When Blood is the Traitor
by Gunner'sDream
Summary: Draco Malfoy's blood turns on him, in the worst way—leukemia. A death sentence as far as his circumstances are concerned. But on an errand to set his affairs in order, his one chance for survival comes from a very unexpected and unwanted source. Someone who has witnessed what he is about to go through, first-hand. Draco/Hermione.
1. Chapter 1

Hey all, back again with another D/H fic. It'll be a multi-chapter and deals with something that has affected everyone's life in one way or another. It's not meant to be offensive or insensitive in any way, shape, or form. This subject is something that has touched my life greatly and that I have lost family to. Shoot me a review if you have something you'd like to say or if you have initials you'd like me to add to the dedication.

Dedication: For anyone who has ever felt the pain of cancer.  
B.A.W. – N.W. – K.B. – J.P.M. – K.M. – R.W. – S.M. – B.D.

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"Malfoy?" Hermione's grip became white knuckled on her apartment door.

To say she was merely surprised to see Draco Malfoy knocking on her door would have been an enormous understatement. She couldn't fathom the reason for him being here, looking a bit nervous.

Words escaped her and despite their unspoken truce over past grievances, it was only her slight understanding of his past circumstances and her good manners that kept her from slamming the door in his perfect face and breaking his perfect nose, just to give him a small taste of the pain—his physical, hers emotional—that he had hatefully caused her throughout their Hogwarts years.

Something must have read of her face because his eyes widened and he placed a flat restraining palm on her door. "Don't slam the door in my face." Apparently her next look didn't reassure him any. "Please."

She about died of shock right there. A Malfoy saying please...and meaning it.

"Should I catch you if you go into a comatose state from your shock or would hitting your head on the pavement be preferable to having me touch you?"

Her eyes widened. Was her face that easy to read? She surely hadn't thought so. The corner of his mouth lifted up into something she would have defined as a smirk but it wasn't the infuriatingly arrogant one she had been used to seeing on him. This one actually looked nice. She shivered. Nice Malfoy was giving her the creeps.

"Wha-who.." Brilliant. She cleared her throat and started again. "What are doing here?" She stuck her head out the door, looking left and then right. This wasn't an ambush was it? No. What a stupid thought. The few times they'd seen each other out in public—very few admittedly—they'd been friendly. Well, relatively friendly. Not hostile. Bingo, not hostile. They'd nod at each other and then continue along their respective ways. No further interaction between the two had been necessary.

Indifferent, she supposed, would be the word that she would use to describe how they felt about one another—or at the very least how she felt about him. Though her earlier thoughts about smashing his nose in sort of contradicted that belief didn't they? His voice scared her out of her thoughts, admittedly making her jump a touch. The corner of his mouth raised a hair at her jump but he didn't stop talking.

"I know this may not be the time or place or whatever other reasons—justifiable ones, I might add," in her mind her head cocked to the side like a confused puppy. Had he just said she was justified in not wanting to talk with him? And in a round about way admitted he'd been wrong? Surely not. "That you could come up with to never have to talk to me again but I swear, just humor me now and you'll never have to deal with me again." A weird morose-type smile adorned his face for only a second before it vanished.

Strangely enough, she nodded and found herself stepping aside to let him in.

Had she really just freely let Draco Malfoy into her apartment with out some type of backup? Protection? Pepper spray? A bat? Where was her wand? Her head flipped around until she found it on the side table, right where she'd left it. She tried to stealthily grab it up before sliding it into her back pocket—not that she expected to need it, just precaution, of course.

"You won't need it. I swear, Granger, I'm not here to cause you any trouble."

She nodded and gestured her arm, offering him a seat on her couch. He took it, while she sat in her arm chair, several feet away.

"What is it you need from me then, Malfoy?"

"Nothing, Granger. I don't need anything from you, other than for you to just...listen..to what I have to say for a few minutes." He held his hands out, palms up in a sort of pleading gesture. "I..it's not going to be easy to get through but well, considering I've already said part of it several times, to several different people already, it should come out easier. You'll probably want to laugh, or kick me or I don't know have a celebratory party but it's all stuff that I've got to get out. I'll try not to take up too much of your time."

He was rambling. She'd never witnessed him like this before. His cheeks were turning a light shade of pink and his hands were trembling and gesturing every which way, she finally took pity on him.

"You're fine, Malfoy. Take your time, I don't have anywhere else to be. Everyone else is busy today and I'm completely alone." Said the victim to their killer. Nice Hermione.

He abruptly stood up before sitting back down. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, stood up, took two steps away from her, spun around, took to steps the other way and sat down again. "I just... Why are you being so nice to me?" He nearly snapped at her, out of nowhere.

Her head really did cock to the side this time. She spoke with deliberate slowness. "Would you rather I yell at you?"

"Yes..no. I just don't understand." He admitted, moderating his breathing and twining his hands together in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees. "If I were you I don't know how I could be so...so...civil to a person who was..." He struggled for words. "Like I was to you."

"I suppose that's where you and I differ."

"Apparently." He let out a humorless chuckle. "I mean, I was horrid to you. I was horrid to everyone. I spat at your name every chance I got –"

"Hey, it went both ways, Malfoy." What? Did she just defend him? She quickly backtracked. "Though you mainly instigated it, insults and taunts came from Harry, Ron and I too."

"And then you defend me, Gods, maybe I do have a hope of this. Never mind. Okay that's not even what I'm here for." He waved his hands in the air, as if erasing the conversation that'd just taken place. "You, Granger, Hermione, if I may?"

She found herself nodding with wide eyes. All the years she'd known him and this was he first time he'd ever actually called her by her given name. Which made her wonder who the hell it was sitting on her couch because it definitely was not the Draco Malfoy she'd grown up with.

"Okay, then. You, Hermione, are the last on my list."

"List?" Like a hit list?

He just nodded. "Well first actually but that makes you the last. To visit anyways, not as of importance." He was rambling again. He seemed aware of it this time. "I'm seeing a therapist." He cut to the chase. "Go ahead get your jollies out if you wish. You won't be the first."

She felt quite indignant at his statement. "How dare you think I would laugh at something like that, Malfoy. What do you think me, some emotionally stunted first year?"

The stupid ferret had the nerve to bark out a laugh before slapping a hand over his mouth.

"What?"

"No. Nothing." Her glare didn't waver. "No, it's just you think someone that'd get their jollies out of me seeing a therapist would be an 'emotionally stunted first year' and well Weasley seemed to get a pretty big fall out of it when I informed him earlier today."

That stopped her on two accounts. "You talked to Ron?" This visit just kept getting weirder. "And I've known Ron was emotionally stunted since the first time I heard him speak. Some things will never change." She added as a side thought.

Malfoy nodded. "Yes, I spoke to him just a few hours prior but back to what I was saying. I'm seeing a therapist for certain reasons that I will get to before long. I've talked to her—my therapist—a lot over the past few months and between that and the happenings in my life I've come to view things in life a lot differently." He met her eyes head on, his elbows resting on his knees again. "You know, it's just..." he struggled to explain. "When your beliefs are so completely entrenched in certain ideals it really takes a massive blow to put things into perspective. To really make a person see what is actually of the most importance in this lifetime."

"I can understand that."

He nodded as though grateful for her understanding. "After the war...I was angry." He stopped talking, all was quiet until Hermione felt the need to break the deafening silence.

"I think we all were." 'Though about different things,' she added silently.

He again nodded. "I was furious. Not about Voldemort's demise. No, I had...prayed for that." News to her. Though he had helped them during the war hadn't he? "I was furious that I was made look a coward. I was furious that my father and probably my entire family was going to Azkaban for life –though you know he managed his way out of that one, correct?"

Hermione nodded with an angry frown. Lucius Malfoy. Death Eater, murderer, and all around evil guy sentenced to nothing more than a hefty fine, being revoked of his magic for the next 15 years with no chance of regaining it sooner, and being implanted with a tracking device so as he would never be off of the Ministry's radar again. Countless lives had been taken by that bastard and he basically got a get out of jail free card. She supposed money did by happiness—or freedom in this case. She kept her hostile opinions to herself though. No need to rile her...guest.

"I won't even start on that." He shook his head. Again, she was confused. "I was angry that I was bested by those who I was supposed to be better than. But most of all I was angry that I lost my Mum."

Hermione shook her head sympathetically. She knew it had taken them three days to find Narcissa's body within all of the wreckage. She had been crushed underneath a stone pillar that had come down during the battle, though it had been later determined that her actual cause of death had come from the end of an allies' wand. Killed by her own kind.

"Furious as I was, I never acted on it. Instead I just...well...mentally, shut down. I honestly cannot tell you what happened through the months after. I don't even remember my own trial. I don't remember when I came out of that period of breakdown either. A type of severe clinical depression is what Denise called it. Denise is my therapist." He explained. "I don't really know but one day, months later, suddenly things weren't black and white anymore. I could taste food again. Smell the grass. From then on, day by day, things started looking up. I think it was Liely actually, that brought me back around in the end."

"Who's Liely?" She asked politely, hoping her interruption didn't cause him to clam up.

"Liely is my house elf." He saw her face harden and stopped her. "I know, Granger. I know how you feel about it, and though my thoughts may differ slightly from yours, none of the others are under my power at any account. I do not have the power to set them free. Only my father does." He gave her what could pass for a guilty shrug. "Liely has been assigned to me since I was a tot. She's my oldest friend." He sighed, before she could even get a word out, apparently exasperated with her constant near interruptions. "Yes, Granger, friend. On any account it was her constant worrying and presence that finally brought me back out of my darkness.

As I said, things started to get better. And at a little over two years after the war things were the best they'd been. And though I still missed my Mother, in all reality it was her death that had put everything into perspective for me." He wiped his palms on his black slacks. "Like I said everything was going good. I'd somehow managed to find work with a one-in-a-million, sympathetic employer. When I built up my own income I moved out of the Manor and attainted my own living quarters, Liely came with me. It was an extremely modest living compared to my childhood and it was extremely difficult to get used to but now I actually find that it fits well with me knowing I'm being entirely independent. I no longer need my father's money or anything from him really. Around the time I finally moved out we weren't getting on very well and I'd come to ultimately blame him for my mother's demise."

His brow wrinkled, though whether in distaste or confusion Hermione didn't know. "We went to blows that night because I didn't want anything to do with him, I still don't, really. He surely got back at me for that line of thinking. Ultimate irony, I suppose." He said, arousing Hermione's curiosity but didn't elaborate further. "It was then that I started seeing Denise with the little extra money I had saved up. Liely thought it necessary." He smiled fondly. "And I thought it might be a good idea if it kept me from retreating back in on myself again."

He met her eyes straight on, something she could tell was difficult for him to do. "For the first time since I could remember I was actually happy." He sighed, though it came off tinged with a cheerless undertone as he relived his memories. "It wasn't even two months later when I started to lose weight again." He scratched his pale head. "I was constantly tired and though I had no severe mood changes I was worried my depression was worsening again." He wiped his palms on his pants again. "I'd talked with Denise about it and she seemed to agree with me, even prescribing me a weekly antidepressant potion to manage my symptoms. As you can probably already tell, it had no affect."

Hermione's hands were tightening into fists. She had a feeling she knew what was coming next. It was something she'd been witness to first hand with her mother and oh God, how she'd never wish it on even her worst enemy. Malfoy wasn't anywhere near her worst enemy. He wasn't even considered an enemy, by her standards, anymore.

He nodded to her. He seemed to be able to read her like a book. He knew she'd figured it out. "Three weeks later I was at the office when a coworker tossed me a book. A rather good sized one, not all that big but big enough, apparently. I misjudged and it connected with the middle of my chest, right below my collarbone."

He nodded, rubbing at his chest. "It hurt something fierce and knocked the breath out of me but I though no more of it until I went home later that night." His eyes delved to the ground, his voice becoming almost reluctant. "I was changing for bed." He ran a hand in a circular motion from the top of his collar bone to several inches below where he'd said the object had collided with his skin. "My entire chest from here to here was covered with a massive black and purple bruise." He looked down at her coffee table and traced an invisible pattern on it with his finger. "As you can assume I flooed to St. Mungo's immediately." He looked back up at her and spoke flatly. "And a week later, after various tests and such, I was diagnosed with Acute Myelogenous Leukemia. Cancer." He unnecessarily translated with a frank voice and careful shrug.

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A/N: Please review and let me know what you think. I'm not quite sure where I'm going to end with this one. I'm open to ideas.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much for all your comments and reviews. They mean the world to me! I'm so glad that you all like it so far.

This chapter is a little weird. It was rather huge so I decided to split it in two. It ends at a kind of odd stopping point but I felt it needed to be done. Anyway, I'll try to post the next half of the chapter within a day or two. Thanks again for reading. Don't forget to review and tell me what you think!..keeps me motivated to write!

Dedication: For anyone who has ever felt the pain of cancer.

B.A.W. – N.W. – K.B. – J.P.M. – K.M. – R.W. – S.M. – B.D.

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Cancer.

Oh, Lord, how she hated hearing that word. Even if just in passing. Agony, sadness, anger, loss—were all things that came with that word, that disease, that...sentence. That one word brought with it some of the most horrid moments of her life, memories that would haunt her forever—that still haunted her today. That one word had the power to bring her to her knees.

"Cancer." She could barely force the choked word past her lips. Deafening as it was she could still hear the wonder in Malfoy's tone.

"Yes. Cancer."

He was confused. Of course he was. Why should she be acting so dejected from the news that **he** was sick? It wasn't like she was supposed to care about **him**.

But he didn't know everything she'd gone through the previous year. He couldn't. Only a few people within the wizarding world had known or even cared about Hermione's mother's battle against the retched disease. And even out of those, few people knew most of what really went on and how hard it was for Hermione to deal with. She considered both herself and her father of strong character but becoming caretaker for and watching as the disease ate away at their beloved mother and wife had taken the strength she'd been proud of and tore it to shreds.

In the end, it hadn't come down to Hermione's and her father's will for her to live, it came down to her mother's and when she'd let go of it, it had been inevitable. The cancer had been too far along, the pain and strain too great. They'd lost her a year ago next month.

And now, almost eleven months to the day later that retched beast cancer had found its way back into her life again. Through the most unlikely extension possible.

She lifted her head and gazed at the boy sitting across from her. A boy, no older than twenty-one. Her age. Would he die too? Would he end up like her Mother—weak and invalid? Bedridden and unable to care for himself? God she hoped not. She never wanted anyone else to have to go through that. Ever.

For once she was actually thrilled at the thought of Lucius Malfoy throwing his money around, buying the best care and doctors available for his son. She prayed it would be enough.

She realized she was staring but Malfoy hadn't noticed. He was currently staring off into space and thinking about something of his own. Mortality, perhaps? She took the opportunity to really look at him for the first time since he'd shown up at her doorstep.

He hid his sickness well. Head held high and face devoid of anything that could be construed as weakness. The Malfoy way.

His clothing was impeccable, even in its casual simplicity. In short, he looked as dashing as always but anyone with a practiced eye in this particular area could see the slight contradictions in his demeanor.

His shoulders were, oh so very slightly, hunched as if he were in pain. If the way he was holding his left arm in tight against his ribs was any indication, she would venture to guess that that's where the pain was originating from. Pain under the ribs was a common symptom of certain cancers.

If she focused hard she was pretty sure she could not only see the infinitesimal tremor to his hands but a very fine, almost invisible smooth glaze underneath his eyes, something that would indicate that a glamour charm was currently in use. Hermione's guess was he was using the simple spell to hide purple bruises under his eyes caused by both many sleepless nights and constant exhaustion.

His cheeks were also slightly pinkened again—though not from embarrassment this time. He definitely had a bit of a fever and his breath was coming and going just a tad harsher than was considered normal.

All were slight things that many people wouldn't even notice and he himself was doing a fine job playing normal through his discomfort even though she knew he had to be feeling rather terrible at the moment. She didn't dare accuse him of it though for fear his defensive side would come out from hiding. Instead she took a different tactic.

"How are you feeling?" She held her breath for his answer.

His head snapped back around as though he had forgotten she was even there, or rather that he was in her apartment. It took him longer than normal to collect his thoughts but eventually he managed an answer. "I feel fine. Why do you care?"

It wasn't said in a snappish tone but in an honest and gently curious one. It was a question that she herself would have liked the answer to—though she honestly already knew. It wasn't who had **it**, it was that **it** was involved at all.

He was looking at her with his wide, silver-blue eyes, forcing them to meet hers. It struck her that this moment, right here, in her living room, could be the last time she ever saw him alive.

She knew she could manage to stay updated on his condition—likely through the newspapers, 'Ex-Death Eater turned war-hero and Malfoy heir fraught with cancer,' it would be a big story—but that wasn't quite enough for her. She couldn't just push him out the door without making sure he would be alright.

"I care because even though we haven't always been cordial to each other, we are now. I don't know you, Malfoy. I know next to nothing and the last twenty minutes is the longest we have ever even spent in each others presence but I can tell you that from the last twenty minutes I both genuinely like and respect the person that I have been talking to. And even if I didn't...?" His eyebrows had risen to his hairline. "It still wouldn't matter." He silently scoffed at her words. "You are a person, Malfoy, and no matter your past, no one deserves to have to go through such a cruel fate."

His head turned to the side. She could see nothing but the back of his head but did see his arm discreetly reach up so he could quickly cough into his fist. A few short seconds later his head turned back around and his eyes met hers. His voice was rougher when he spoke. "Several people told me I deserved it. That they were glad even."

"Screw them. Heartless bastards, all of them." She wanted names. One tongue lashing from Hermione on the subject and those prats would never say such cruel and disrespectful things to anyone again.

Malfoy seemed torn between shock, disbelief, and humor. In the end it was humor that won out and a smile shone out on his face. "I don't know, sometimes I think they might be right. Other times I ask, why me? Denise says I shouldn't do either though. So I try not to."

"You trust her." It was a statement of fact.

"With my life. Though, not in a physical, duel-to-the-death sort of way but in the keeping-Draco-mentally-sane sort of way." He shrugged at his explanation. "What she says goes. She told me I should stop being so hard on myself, so I've tried...and admittedly I have failed spectacularly at it." He gave a slightly lopsided smile. "She says I need to be more honest and forthcoming with information too. That, I feel I have taken major strides it. Believe it or not," He spoke with wide eyes and a weird sort of satirical irony that meshed perfectly with Hermione's own sense of humor. "I was never this open and honest with anyone before I started seeing her."

Hermione gave a snort. She liked this side of Draco, though she wanted to make a comment about the whole 'honesty' part when he'd already lied to her at least once about how he was actually feeling but she held it in and went for something more lighthearted. "Believe it."

He acted wounded but took it all in good stride. "She's also, sort of, the one who brought me here today." He got them back on track. His eyes almost cagily lifted to hers. "When I found out I was sick she was the first one I told..."

Hermione cut him off. "Sorry, I'm interrupting again but adding up the time from what you've already told me, you found out approximately two years and some months after the war. When was it exactly that you were diagnosed, in relation to today?"

He looked at the floor sheepishly as though he already knew what her reaction to his answer would be. "Two weeks ago."

Hermione's eyes bugged out. "Two weeks?!" She half squealed, half shouted. "Draco you haven't even had time to process such news let alone accept it within a couple weeks! This is life changing news Malfoy, it's not like someone just told you they did a bad job dying your hair! Acceptance takes time!"

"You think I dye my hair?!" He seemed outraged.

"Not the point!"

He held his hands up in surrender. "Quit freaking out, Granger. I know it takes time. I've still got what? Bargaining and Denial left? I've been depressed for over two years now and the anger came earlier in the week. I'm already on my way through the five steps, Hermione, don't worry about it."

"It's not funny, Malfoy. Stop trying to make a joke out of it." She deflated all at once, plopping back into her seat—she hadn't even realized she'd stood up. "I just... you talk about it so nonchalantly. I'd assumed you'd known for a while, that you'd accepted it. I...it's only been two weeks. How can you even stand up straight? Talk to people? Joke and smile for God's sake? I just don't get it."

"Denise says that I'm detaching myself from it." He saw her confusion. "In her words, 'I can say, 'Hi, I'm Draco Malfoy and I have cancer,' and be fine with it until I'm blue in the face but what it comes down to is that I can say it without really connecting the consequences, the symptoms, the everything back to my actual wellbeing. And though I'm feeling them I can, in most ways, just equate my symptoms back to the common flu or something similar.'" He shrugged his shoulders.

"That sounds an awful lot like denial to me."

"I suppose it is. She says, it's like I consciously know I have cancer but subconsciously my mind is still trying to convince me nothing is wrong. Like it won't believe it." He shook his head. "I don't know if I believe that though."

Hermione's brow furrowed, he seemed to understand. He held up his hands. "Don't get me wrong. I think everything of Denise. She's brilliant. But I also think, in this one instant, she's wrong."

Hermione leaned forward, rubbing her face in her hands "In what way?"

"Well, I know I'm only in my early twenties but I've already been through **a lot** in my life." He gestured between them. "We both have. And I accepted all of that easily enough. I honestly think I've accepted this too. All of it."

Hermione nodded into her hands. There was something weird about the way he'd emphasized the sentence, 'All of it' but she shrugged it off. She honestly didn't think he was even close to acceptance of his disease or his possible death either. She'd thoughts she had accepted her mother's curse, way back when, and boy had she been wrong. Acceptance had been a long time coming, not just something that happened. And there were some days that she still couldn't believe it.

"Is any of this making the least bit of sense?" He interrupted her thoughts.

"Quite a lot actually. I still can't believe your out and about though. Why? Why would your therapist encourage you to get out so quickly after your diagnosis?"

"Two reasons. One," Malfoy held up a finger. "My leukemia is defined as acute, meaning—"

She cut him off again. "Faster acting. Acute manifests faster and gets worse quicker, whereas, chronic expands slower and over time. I suppose I can understand that reason, if you're not sure about time, but honestly you should be busy getting treatments instead of making home visits."

He coughed into his hand, avoiding her eyes. "Yeah, so, reason number two is that after my diagnosis we had a long talk about the what ifs and the big question remained, 'what if I die?'" Her head fell into her hands. He was just so nonchalant talking about it—further evidence in Hermione's mind that what Denise had surmised about his denial was true. "And what things did I want to do before then. One thing on the list she felt would be beneficial in several ways, in that, it not only was something I wanted and felt like I needed to do but something that she thought would erase some of the negative feelings I have about myself."

"Apologize. You're here to apologize aren't you?" Hermione shook her head. "That's why you started out with the fact that you're seeing a therapist, then how your views have changed, on to your illness and now to the reason you're here. I can see why it's all a necessary part of understanding but hell it's got to be hard to have to recite through all of it every time you feel like you need to apologize for something of the past."

He nodded but went back to her first question. "Yes I am here to apologize for everything I've ever done, said, insinuated, or thought that was wrong or hurtful to you in anyway. Denise had me make a list of everyone I felt I needed to apologize to. There were several small ones that were taken care of with letters but there was several specific ones that I felt needed to be done in person. Denise agreed with me and here I am. You are number one. The most important on my list as needing to apologize to. And if it's any consolation I'm so terribly sorry that I made you cry the first...every time I called you...that name."

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head tightly. She didn't want to bring up the past. She just wanted to start over between them. "I..thank you, Malfoy. But honestly, if I'm considered the person you've been the most terrible to in your lifetime then you really weren't that horrid of a boy to begin with." He looked at her like she'd gone mad. She shook her head in exasperation at him. "You were just a boy with a superior attitude and a fat mouth. Nothing more than a school bully really. You made a lot of poor decisions in your life and got yourself in a lot of bad situations, which is understandable considering your past circumstances but in those moments—those irreversible moments that could have made you into the person that you think you are," She explained. "You stopped. You didn't do those horrid things and that is what matters."

She was trying to get him to see the truth of it, he wouldn't hear her though. "Granger, just give it a rest." He grasped his hair in exasperation."I wasn't just some school bully and I cannot believe you are trying to award me redemption for being a coward!"

She was quiet in her reply. "I'll admit there were times when you were closer to running away from the fight than running towards it but there was at least twice when you held strong and they were probably the two most defining moments of your life, Malfoy."

She was on the edge of her seat trying to reach him with her words. "You could have turned us in at the Manor—to your father, to Bellatrix, to bloody Voldemort himself—but you didn't. You knew it was us, I know you did and you still risked lying to save us anyways." His face held impassive, she wasn't even sure he was listening. Denise was right when she'd told him he was entirely too hard on himself. Completely different from how he used to be. She had never seen such a complete 180 in all her life. The boy had gone from having an ego the size of England to having one the size of a walnut.

"And Dumbledore?" She tried to meet his eyes but he wouldn't oblige her. "You lowered your wand." His head shot up. "Harry saw you. He was under the floorboards that night. He saw you lower your wand. You weren't going to do it—kill an innocent man." She was on her feet now, jabbing a continuous finger and nearly yelling at him. "You put your wand down knowing the consequences that would be coming to you. You didn't know Snape was on his way, you didn't know he had a deal with Dumbledore. You wouldn't have done it. You would have taken the unjust punishment, likely torture that Voldemort would have been more than happy to employ on you. You may have failed according to Voldemort, you may have even failed according to your father but you did not fail to anyone that matters. And if that isn't courage, I just..." Words nearly failed her. "I don't know what is."

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A/N: Weird ending I know. If you read my note at the beginning you know I split the chapter in two. I'll try to get the next posted in a day or two. Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks again for all the reviews, follows and favorites. Here's the second part of chapter two, as promised. Enjoy!

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"And Dumbledore?" She tried to meet his eyes but he wouldn't oblige her. "You lowered your wand." His head shot up. "Harry saw you. He was under the floorboards that night. He saw you lower your wand. You weren't going to do it—kill an innocent man." She was on her feet now, jabbing a continuous finger and nearly yelling at him. "You put your wand down knowing the consequences that would be coming to you. You didn't know Snape was on his way, you didn't know he had a deal with Dumbledore. You wouldn't have done it. You would have taken the unjust punishment, likely torture that Voldemort would have been more than happy to employ on you. You may have failed according to Voldemort, you may have even failed according to your father but you did not fail to anyone that matters. And if that isn't courage, I just..." Words nearly failed her. "I don't know what is."

She was really riled now. She turned on her heel and strode to the kitchen grabbing herself a glass and filling it with water before dumping it out and starting all over again. She heard her front door quietly shut and lowered her head between her shoulders, bracing her arms on the counter.

That'd gone well. God, she was such an idiot. She had wanted to make things easier for him, make sure he was being looked after and instead she'd gone all emotionally-charged-teenage-girl on him. She really needed to work on her people skills. Granted, now, these past eleven months she hadn't been a perfect frame of mind—or any frame of mind really, other than the one with the dark clouds that constantly hung over her head. She needed help.

"Sometimes I think it would have been better that way." She spun around so fast she had to catch herself on the cabinet to keep from falling.

He was standing in the doorway to her kitchen, his hands in his pockets, with his head bowed to the side. "Dying back then, even at Voldemort's mercy or lack thereof." He made his way across her kitchen and plopped down on one of her bar stools, wilting into it before her eyes. He was feeling worse. The more time that elapsed and the more relaxed he became around her, the easier it was to see. "At least then the torture would have only lasted a few hours at most but now... At least then I would have died for a reason and not just because of some God awful disease." He finally finished with two hands full of his hair, elbows on the surface below.

She slammed her palm down on the surface of the bar between them. "It's not a death sentence, Draco! You can fight it." She had a desperation to her voice that Draco couldn't understand, Hermione wasn't even sure she understood it herself. "You have to fight it, you have to beat it!"

He covered his face with his hands and mumbled something that she couldn't understand.

It didn't sound anything like, 'Yes, Hermione, I'll kick its butt', so she just ignored him.

She felt awful, like she'd been put through the ringer multiple times in the past hour. Her entire body was drained of energy and she dropped her head to the counter below her.

She couldn't believe it, honestly. Who'd have thought her day would go like this? Draco Malfoy showing up out of nowhere, after two years, apologizing? Now he was currently in her kitchen and... he had cancer. Good God.

She looked at him, her eyes so full of empathy, she would have been embarrassed had he seen it but he still had his face covered. She couldn't lose another person she knew to cancer, even if it was him. God, she really couldn't.

She wanted to help him, really help him, but she just knew she couldn't go through it again. All she had to do was make sure he was getting good treatment—to know he was going to fight—and then he could leave. After that she could regain the little, miniscule bit of peace she had managed to build back before he'd arrived. She hoped.

"What are you doing for your treatments? Do you have a good doctor?"

He mumbled incoherently again and she raised her head. "What?"

He suddenly jumped and was on his feet, wobbling a bit. "You know what?" He suddenly seemed very wary of his surroundings, backing out of the kitchen. "I should get going."

"No!" She strode past him planting herself between him and the door. "You're not leaving until you tell me what your treatment plan is."

His face turned hard and defensive, a face she hadn't seen in a while. "You can't make me stay here, Granger. What I do with my life is none of your business."

"You made it my business when you showed up here today and made me care about what happens to you!"

He seemed to take it like a slap in the face. "Good God, don't start caring now, Granger. This world isn't much longer for me."

Stupid, stubborn ferret. She reached out as if to punch him in the shoulder but pulled back, remembering how easily he'd bruise. "You don't have to die, Malfoy! You can beat it. You at least have to try!"

He advanced on her, she took an automatic step back. "It's not that easy! Not everything is so black and white, do or don't, Granger! Just because you're finally willing to work with the world doesn't mean it's ever going to be willing to work with you!"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" She was still yelling, she couldn't help herself, he'd always been able to get her riled up.

"Wizarding medicine only goes so far, Granger. Magical Healers? They haven't found a cure for cancer, they don't even have any treatment options for it. They can recreate your bones in your body with a simple potion but they can't stop my own blood from killing me. It's just maddening is what it is. That we can do such amazing, massive things with magic and yet we haven't found a way to stop the tiniest, most microscopic diseases from basically murdering us."

Hermione had to shake her head to understand what she was hearing. Did he not know he had other options? Had his Healer really not shared with him any treatment scenarios at all? "You have to go to a muggle doctor, Draco. With electricity and machines that can administer your medication, monitor your health and keep you alive! Muggles haven't exactly found a cure either but they have means and treatments that can fix or manage a lot of cancers. They can keep you alive, they can heal you. I even know the perfect Doctor for you to go to, she's brilliant. Right here in England too."

Acute myelogenous leukemia. Acute. He'd been diagnosed for two weeks and the disease had already been manifesting for who knew how long before that and he still hadn't had any treatment. This wasn't something to fool around with. Time was of the essence, did he not understand that?

His entire body was trembling by now likely from both waning strength and stress. She could tell he was having a really hard time with this conversation. "I..no, it's not that easy, Hermione. I can't." He was almost pleading with her now.

"And just why not?!"

He deflated in front of her. She took his arm and led him back to the couch where he sat down, her beside him. "Because they're muggles."

She shot up and pointed a finger at him, daring him to say more. "Are you serious? Are you seriously telling me you'd rather die than swallow your pride and bigotry to get help?"

"It's not about that for me anymore. I told you that." His head was bowed against her onslaught of insults and she could barely hear him. She did give pause though.

"Explain. Explain now, Malfoy."

He raised his head an inch. "I told you, Granger. I told you money was tight for me. My job pays just enough for my apartment and food. And the little extra I have is going towards paying for my visits with Denise. And as if any of that matters at any rate, I wouldn't be able to work any job while having Chemotherapy treatments. I wouldn't have an income at all. On top of that, I don't have health insurance, Granger." He said in exasperation. "Not many wizards do, mainly just aurors, quiddich players and dragon trainers. I, myself, don't have the money to pay for treatment. I've estimated, calculated, and scraped out every last knut that I have access to and I can't swing it. So, Miss. Smartest-Witch-of-Our-Time," he said in his oh so sarcastic voice that Hermione hated. "If you have any other practical suggestions **please** don't refrain from sharing them." The mockery in his voice was hard enough to hear but the sincere desperation in his eyes was unbearable. He really was asking for help, for advice—from her—for anything that might, in the end, aid in saving his life.

She swallowed hard. For years she'd wondered how differently everything (his life especially) might have turned out if he'd asked someone for help back then. If he'd found the courage to tell someone that he didn't want to serve Voldemort and that he didn't want to kill and rape and torture. Now, years later he **was** asking for help—for an entirely different matter—but whether it was for her past what ifs, her sense of responsibility, her heart, or her mother, she wasn't going to let him down now.

She sat back down next to him. "What about your father?"

He shook his head.

"Nothing?!" She was incensed. "Your his son, his only son and heir and he won't finance your healing?" Given the chance she thought she just might strangle the man.

"On the contrary," he frankly met her eyes. He didn't seem upset or betrayed, he seemed merely resigned—as if he'd fully expected the stipulations that would be set forth by his father in regards to his own wellbeing. "He has made it quite clear that if I were to quit my job, move back home and stop behaving in such a 'juvenile' manner by casting blame for my mother's death then he would be more than happy to pay for my treatments." Draco leaned back into the couch, exhaustion winning the fight against the deeply ingrained rules of pureblood posture.

Hermione leaned back too, resting her head on the back of the couch but also turning to meet Draco's eyes from the other side. "An extremely tall order that would not only force you to give away your independence but force you to bury whatever justifiable reasons you have to distance yourself from your father, as well as, damage any pride you had in yourself." He just nodded. "But worth it in the long run, no?"

He shook his head with a sigh. "It wouldn't matter even if I was willing to give any of it up."

"Why?" She asked in a calmer manner than she'd managed all evening.

He sat up a little but still rested against the couch. "He would buy me any cure, treatment, comfort, or research abilities that he could possibly afford—and he can afford them all," he added. "As long as those options," his eyes slid closed, a fist curling in his right hand. "Are within the Wizarding World."

"That son of a bitch." She cursed under her breath, her hands rubbing at her eyes. "He's still the same old racist bastard I see." She asked not really expecting an answer. "And you have no other options? No other family willing to help?"

His eyes opened to meet hers. "Think about it, Hermione. I've lost damn near every blood relative I had during the war or in the time leading up to it. I've barely a handful of relatives left and the ones that are alive will never want to have anything to do with me. It would be quite ridiculous for me to show up at their doors after all this time and after everything that has happened, begging them to save my life."

He seemed to realize some relativity between what he'd just said and the situation he was currently in. "I'd better be going." He stood up with the speed of a decrepit old man, prepared to leave his last thread of hope behind. "I'm sure you have more important things to be doing."

Hermione, consciously, hadn't even realized he'd moved. Her mind was occupied by internal warrings. It'd finally hit home just how bleak his situation was. She couldn't even imagine being in one similar. If her family wouldn't—and they would—have supported her, then her friends would have been there in a heartbeat. She never would have been alone, she would have had options and yet, here he was without any. She watched him move painfully through her living room, rubbing at his arm, sweat on the back of his shirt—his fever definitely in full swing.

She tried to put herself in his spot. He'd changed, he'd apologized, he was alone and he was dying. He had to be terrified. He needed someone, anyone. But she couldn't go through having a front row seat to the devastations of cancer again!

Her mind still suffered constantly from memories of her mother. She knew, her father knew, her friends knew, that Hermione hadn't recovered from that pain yet. Sometimes she felt as though she never would. In fact, she was so far from recovered that she hadn't been out of her apartment in over a week. She hadn't spoken to her friends—except through occasional letters—in the same amount of time. When she'd told Draco earlier that she was free the entire day because everyone else was busy, it was actually because she'd convinced everyone else that ** she** was the one that was busy, while instead she was sitting in her darkened apartment, still mourning the loss of her mother.

When she did see her friends it was a far cry from the easy relationship they'd used to have. Things were awkward. Hermione was depressed but trying to mask it. They were supportive but desperately trying to understand why she was still so despondent and affected when it had been almost a year since her mother had passed. She'd never shared all the horrors that she'd experienced with them. The horrors that her mother had gone through, the horrors that she remembered vivid as day.

They wouldn't understand. They'd try. They'd be as understanding as they could and forever supportive but that kind of understanding wasn't something that could be attained through words, it could only come with shared experience. And she couldn't bring herself to try to so desperately explain the emotions connected with the worst moments of her life when, in the end, they could never realize just how badly it hurt. How seeing her mom incapable of caring for herself had stung Hermione. How watching her mother go through episodes where she was unaware of her surroundings had damaged her. How her mother, her own mother, not being able to remember who her own daughter was had nearly killed her.

But how could she put her own needs above his own? Could her own vast amounts of pain even come close to what he was feeling right now—hurting, being entirely alone and dying?

She might be broken but he was damn near shattered.

She didn't know if she could do it but she could try. She would never be able to live with herself if she let him walk away and he died because no one had given him the help he so desperately needed. If nothing else he could be given another chance at life and perhaps she could even gain a sense of repentance from helping him live when she hadn't been able to save her own mother.

She'd always put her own needs second in the past and she wasn't going to stop now. He needed her and she'd be there.

"Draco."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: another chapter split in half. Apparently, I need to stop writing such long chapters :)

Thank you so much for all of your reviews, follow, and favorites. They mean the world to me and keep me writing.

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Merlin, his head hurt. His back too. Actually everything pretty much felt horrid. If his pain had color he was sure it would be pure black and blue. And though whatever he was laying on felt pretty nice, it didn't hardly make a bit of difference.

He shifted and his brow furrowed. Where was he? He could tell he was currently laid out on a stiff and crappy mattress but that there was also a wonderfully soft and warm blanket underneath him too. He snuggled deeper into it, breathing in the wonderful smell it gave off as he tried to figure out just exactly where he was.

Why had he fallen asleep someplace other than his own apartment? Had he collapsed at work again? That occurrence had only happened once but when he'd come to afterwards it'd been on a lumpy couch versus a lumpy mattress. He shifted again and his breath caught in his throat, his teeth clenching hard. Black. Black was his world. Nothing but pain with a generous side helping of despair.

A door to his right opened but out of habit he kept his eyes shut and breaths measured. No, he didn't think he was in any danger at the moment but old habits died hard. The door shut quietly and a...chair? next to his bed was pulled out. Someone sat down. For a few immeasurable moments nothing but Draco and the stranger's steady breathing filled the air, then the chair screeched forward.

"Good, you're awake."

His eyes shot open, mouth slightly agape. His head whipped, as quickly and painlessly as possible, around to the person beside his bed. Okay...One. What was **she** doing here? Two. Where was here? Three. How had he gotten here and how much time had passed? And fourth, finally and most importantly, how had she known he was awake?!

He was very skilled at the practice of pretending to be something when the opposite was actually the truth. How else could he convince people he was entirely prepared and okay with the fact that he would have to face his cancer head on, completely alone, without treatment and without an ounce of fear in his bones? He couldn't.

He wasn't sure he could handle it for much longer either way. But at some point, soon, his need for such things would be over. Yes, soon he would cut off his access to the outside world, lock himself in his apartment and let his leukemia do with him what it wished. **That** would be the only way his life could end with any small semblance of either pride or dignity. When he got bad, when he got to that point where he wouldn't even be able to control of his own facilities, no one would see him like that. Cancer might be able to take his life but no one was going to take his dignity ever again. Not while he was alive to say anything about it.

Which brought him back to the woman that was currently sitting next to his bed and staring rather intently at him, waiting for some sort of...anything from him. He closed his mouth.

She'd already seen too much for his comfort. He'd nearly fallen to pieces at her apartment, almost given into the comfort she'd been trying to offer. And now, he was lying in a bed, in a strange room, in obvious pain, in front of someone he really couldn't stand seeing him as any lower than she already did. Unacceptable.

Again the questions went through his mind, what did she want? What was she doing here? Where was here and what had happened?

"What happened?" More importantly what had happened to his voice? He sounded like he'd swallowed a bucketful of sand. His throat felt like it too. "Where am I? Why are you here?"

"Hold on. I'll call the nurse." She reached over and pushed a button on Draco's bed railing that he hadn't noticed until now.

His eyes opened wide and he frantically tried to sit up only to have Hermione push him down again. He tried to resist but with his lack of strength it was a useless fight. He hated being weak. Literally or perceived. "Nurse? What, you mean like a healer?"

He looked around the small, very poorly decorated room. The bed he was in dominated the majority of the room but there was a chest of drawers and a window to his left and the chair that Hermione was sitting in to his right. Along with that there was two doors behind Hermione and a small black square on the wall in front of him. "Where am I?"

"What do you remember?" She countered.

He blinked several times in succession, searching his memories. "I remember leaving your apartment. Everything else is..." His eyes squinted, brow furrowed in both concentration and frustration. "Not there. What happened?"

"You never left my apartment, Malfoy. You were going to and I stopped you." She leaned back in her chair and chewed on her bottom lip. "You don't remember any of it?" He shook his head negative.

"Well," She steepled her fingers. Her manner was reminding him of his therapist Denise and he really didn't much like that comparison. He may have been bad off but he only needed one shrink, thank you very much. "I stopped you from leaving. We shared some calm words, then some more heated words. In the end I think the topic of conversation was too stressful and that coupled with the symptoms of your leukemia was too much for you. You collapsed halfway out the door."

He shook his head. Why couldn't he remember any of this? His lack of recollection was honestly scaring him. "What were we fighting about? **Why** were we fighting?" He'd gone to her to apologize for the past not start up a new present feud between them.

"I suppose you could say, in short, we were fighting because we are both incredibly stubborn and don't like admitting the fallacy of our own claims unless there is evidential proof to the contrary."

His head dipped to the side. "And in long?"

She almost smiled before turning serious again. "And in long, we were fighting because I want to help you gain the treatment you need and you don't see it as either possible or feasible..." She trailed off looking almost contemplative. "And because you're a stubborn goat with too much pride." She said it quickly with a saccharine smile.

He didn't have time to reply before some lady in ill-fitting colorful pants and a short sleeved shirt knocked on the door and came into the room.

"Finally awake, I see."

Draco furtively shied away from the newcomer. Not sure if it was because of her American accent, colorful clothes or the big sheathed needle she had in her shirt pocket. He was betting on the last one. "How long was I out?" He directed his question towards Hermione.

"About fifteen hours." She answered him promptly, pulling a pile of papers out of her bag and leafing through them. "It's about eight o'clock in the morning right now."

"A new day?" He couldn't quite believe he'd been out for that long but he didn't wait for a confirmation to his question. "Shouldn't you be at work or something?"

Hermione's eyes shot to his for a brief moment before studiously—almost too intently—going back to study the papers in front of her. "Nope, I'm good."

She didn't offer any more to her explanation and he didn't push her for at that moment the room's other occupant decided she didn't like being ignored.

"Let's check your vitals, shall we?"

"Vitals?" He kept his gaze on the woman advancing towards him, only slightly relieved when she didn't make a move for the needle but instead grabbed a thing and strapped it tightly on his arm.

"Yes." The nurse answered kindly as she steadied her stethoscope at the bend of his elbow. "Your pulse, your heart rate and your blood pressure." She indicated to what she was doing as she pumped a squishy little oval in her hand and the cuff around his arm got continually tighter.

Just when his arm felt about to burst and he was about to tell her, not very calmly so, she stopped pumping and let the air out slowly. The relief of the returning blood made his arm throb.

"140 over 90. Your blood pressure's a bit high, Hun." Draco stared at her. Hun? He'd never been called Hun before in his life. He turned his head to Hermione. "Try to cut down on the stress, okay?"

He just vaguely nodded in her direction, not really paying attention. As long as she stayed away from that needle she could do pretty much any test on him she wanted. What he was really curious to figure out was what Hermione was finding so interesting on those papers of hers. He almost subconsciously followed the nurses' cues and submitted to the rest of the exam only speaking up when she was done.

"So, where am I?"

Both the nurse's and Hermione's attention shifted to him.

"South Bridge Med."

"And what's that?" The nurse looked at him like he was mental.

"A hospital, Draco." His eyes widened, he started shaking his head. "Could you please give us a moment?" Hermione directed her question towards the nurse. "He's about to have a bit of a fit and we need to have a chat."

The nurse, 'Rawlins', by the text on her nametag looked skeptical but seemed to see the sensibility of it after taking a glance at Draco. "Fine, but please make it quick. I can't give him any medication or even get an I.V. in him until he signs a consent form. I told you last night the best we could do was give him a bed but the boy is ill and needs some medical attention as soon as possible." She said the last part with her back to Draco, making sure only Hermione heard her. Nurse Rawlins wasn't big on upsetting her patients purposely or accidently.

She left the room without further fuss, making sure to shut the door behind her.

"Granger!" He was torn between anger, confusion, frustration and more anger. "Merlin! I can't afford this! You know I can't! And yet..here I am." He was trying to get out of the bed, only stopping when he realized someone had taken his clothes off and put him in some skimpy blue robe. "Where are my clothes?! Who disrobed me? You?"

He pulled the bed's covers up to his chin, watching Hermione's face change from confusion to aggravation, ending with an eye roll. Infuriating woman. She didn't even realize what she'd done. His last months would now be spent being hassled by hospital bill collectors instead of with the small little bit of peace he'd managed to build for himself. And not just that, she'd caused the exact thoughts and feelings in him that he'd been consciously trying to avoid. She'd put him in a muggle hospital, the one place where his problems could be cured or at least helped, and she'd made him **want**. Made him visualize what it would be like if he were here for different reasons. If he didn't have to face certain death. If he could afford to wish for life. Or afford anything at all.

Just by bringing him here, she'd made him wonder how it'd be if recovery were possible instead of just accepting the truth of the matter. She'd made him hope. And then reality had set in and, again, ripped it all away.

At that very moment, he wished with all his heart that he'd just sent her a letter instead of paying her a personal visit. He should have known Granger would take one look at his state and turn him into another one of her charity cases. That was what they'd been fighting about, was it not? His memory of the previous evening was finally returning, relieving him but not enough to make any of his, just or unjust—he couldn't decide—anger go away. "Answer me, Granger! Who was it?"

"The nurse, Malfoy. It would have been very unprofessional, not to mention very intrusive for me to undress you. Even in a clinical way," Her cheeks pinkened infinitesimally. "Especially without your permission."

He let out a silent sigh of relief. He didn't want anyone seeing his body in it's current state, let alone someone he knew. Paler than normal and thin to the max, those along with blackened bruises mixed with the occasional red splotches of exhaustion and exertion, was enough to send anyone running in his opinion. "But you just let her have at me? Let her rip my clothes off and stick me in some...some dress?!"

Again with the eye roll. "It's called a hospital gown. And she is a professional. I assure you that she didn't touch you in any way that was the least bit improper."

"That's not what I meant!"

Her eyes crinkled in confusion. "What did you mean then?"

His eyes turned to angry slits. "Nothing," he hissed. "Now get out so I can change into my clothes," he grit his teeth. "Please and thank you." Damn ingrained manners, damn them.

"I'm not going anywhere Draco and neither are you. We've got a lot to talk about." Hermione scooted her chair closer and pushed half the stack of her papers at him.

He pushed them back in her direction, despite his curiosity. "They only thing we have to talk about is how much you putting me up here for the night is going to cost me. Otherwise I'll be fine," he tapped his chin with his finger, his thoughts shifting. "Do you think there is anyway I could stall the payments until I died? Then it'd be pushed off to my father."

"Draco Alexander Malfoy!" She took one of the pillows from his bed and whopped him hard with it before standing up and striding to the other door in the room—not the exit—the pillow still in her hand. When she opened the door Draco could see it was a built-in bathroom but just as quickly as it opened it closed, Hermione disappearing inside of it.

He rubbed his head. Stupid chit had the nerve to hit him for no good reason. Whatever. She was finally gone, at least for the moment, and he was going to change and get the heck out of there as fast as possible.

A muffled scream made him stop halfway out of the bed. He looked towards the bathroom. What was that crazy girl doing? Being water boarded? Sounded as much. As angry and anguished.

He had no idea why she was in such a tiff but it wasn't his problem. He had enough to deal with without adding her to his list. He was about to call out to her—hadn't he just said he didn't care?—when he heard a series of dull thumps coming from behind the door, followed by a ripping sound and a crash.

Okay, seriously. She hadn't just like...offed..herself in his bathroom or something had she? He couldn't imagine Hermione killing herself but the girl did seem a bit more bizarre than the last time he'd talked to her a lifetime ago.

"Hey you..in there," again, why was he talking and not leaving? "You didn't just like, smash your head into the mirror and die a horrible, bloody death did you?" He heard a growl from behind the door and took that as her confirmation that she was still alive. "Okay then, I see you're not done being melodramatic. I'm just going to leave, then."

He was, again, halfway out of the covers when the bathroom door slammed open and Hermione came charging out. He yelped, pulling the covers back up as quickly as he could.

"Melodramatic? You think I'm being melodramatic?" He noticed loose feathers dancing around her feet and trailing back towards the bathroom. Okay, so he obviously wasn't getting his pillow back. "Answer me!" She punched the side of his bed and his eyes shot to her extremely distraught ones. What the hell was wrong with this girl?

His mouth settled in a hard line. "Yes! You're being completely irrational! Screaming, punching things," his hand, palm up, shot towards the bathroom. "Ripping pillows in half!" She didn't even look ashamed. "And yelling at me for no reason!"

"No reason?!" She yelled **again.** "You think I have no reason?"

"If you turn one of my statements into a question and yell it repeatedly at me, like I'm daft, one more time I swear I will get up and walk out of this room, my clothes be damned."

"Seriously, Malfoy. You seriously have no idea what I'm so angry about? About why I could just about punch you in the face and not feel the least bit sorry about it?"

"No! I don't know!" He growled at her, "so either enlighten me or leave so I can change!"

"I swear you make me so angry!" Her hands clenched into fists. "I mean seriously! One minute I care about whether or not you die and the next I want to throttle you myself!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "There's a thin line between love and hate."

She huffed. "There is no love here," she turned around, kicking at the floor. "There's no hate either. Not anymore. And it's fine line."

Huh? "Huh?"

"The saying. It's, 'There's a **fine** line between love and hate."

"No, it's thin."

She turned back towards him, mouth curling in further irritation. "It's fine."

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath that could likely be translated as, 'mumble mumble, it's thin.'

"Do you really not understand why it was that you made me so angry that I broke the bloody mirror in the bathroom?" She brought their conversation—if you could call it that—back on track.

"No, I **really** don't," he emphasized the word.

She plopped back down in the chair by his bed. "Do you have any idea how hard it is working and striving and slaving for hours upon hours, researching and trying to find ways to save someone's life?" Her eyes narrowed in on his. "Someone who doesn't seem to want to be saved in the first place? Someone who talks about the event of his possibly **preventable** death as though it's casual conversation?"

His face immediately hardened. "I didn't ask you to do any of that!" He was out of the bed now, looking for his clothes. He didn't care what she saw anymore. "I didn't ask to be another one of your little charity projects! I'm not a house elf or a magical creature! I can take care of myself. And since when is acceptance instead of avoidance of a person's very **probable** death a bad thing?!"

Hermione stood up so fast her chair crashed to the floor behind her. "That is not acceptance! You haven't accepted this!" Her hands were grasping in the air at nothing. "You make jokes and plans but you're still not taking in the impact of it!" She swatted her hair out of her eyes. "And where in the world did you get an idea like that?! If you think all you are is a charity project to me then you're sadly mistaken! Why is it so hard for you to understand that someone actually cares about you?" She was genuinely baffled by the man in front of her. "That someone would actually care if you died?! That that same someone would like to try to prevent that from happening!"

There was only a few feet of space between them now. Draco clutched the pile of his clothes, that he'd found in the dresser, tight against his body. "I know there are people that care for me. I just don't see how you're one," he looked at the ground but his voice was just as harsh. "There are a lot of people that would care if I died."

"Who are you trying to convince, Malfoy? Me or yourself?"

Way wrong thing to say. "Shut it, Granger. Get the hell out of my way." He pushed past her and into the bathroom, avoiding both feathers and broken shards of mirror on the tile floor and slammed the door in her face, manners be damned.

"Oh, no wait!" He could detect the false humor in her voice even through the bathroom door. "Maybe you're right, maybe it's not that you're socially mental and couldn't build a long lasting relationship if your life depended on it," she almost choked at her choice of words. "It's that you have this crazy, misguided belief—no doubt planted by your father since childhood—that it is unacceptable for you to ask anyone for help!"

"I don't need help! I'm perfectly fine on my own!" He yelled through the door and through the shirt he was pulling over his head, making it sound like, 'I yon id welp.' "If I can't find the money myself then it's just not going to happen. And I can't find the money! Get that through your head, Granger."

"You were going to accept your father's help if he would have given it to you! Why not mine?" She was banging her fist on the door now, demanding he come out.

He swung the door open and stalked past her, throwing the hospital robe on the unmade bed, Hermione tailing after him. "It's different, Granger and you know it." He wasn't yelling anymore but he wasn't going to be pleasant with her, especially when she was still screaming at him.

"Bullshit!" He blinked in surprise. Couldn't she just let it go? Let him go? Why did it matter to her? "Why won't you let me help you? I don't even mean by paying for your treatment! I swear! I've done tons of research and there are actually a lot of options for you. Some that I didn't even know existed, until now. There's—"

He cut her off. "Do any of them involve any more assistance, goodwill or further actions from you, at all?"

"Well, yes but—"

"No." He put his jacket on and walked around her, towards the door.

"Hey!" Against his better judgment he turned around. She looked indignant before her face crumpled. "You know what? Screw you," she huffed past him and threw the door to the room open. "I never thought I'd see the day that someone turned down life just because of who it was offering the path to get there." She stalked out into the hallway acting as if she had no intentions of ever turning back around.

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A/N: Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry about the delay! But here you go. A new chapter (2nd half of last chpt.). Gotta say I'm a bit discouraged by the lack of reviews I'm receiving. I hope there are some people out there that are enjoying this and that would like me to continue.**

**For all the reviews I have received, thank you so much. They truly mean the world to me. I get so discouraged sometimes and hearing from you guys helps to make it better.**

"Hey!" Against his better judgment he turned around. She looked indignant before her face crumpled. "You know what? Screw you," she huffed past him and threw the door to the room open. "I never thought I'd see the day that someone turned down life just because of who it was offering the path to get there." She stalked out into the hallway acting as if she had no intentions of turning back around.

He should have just let her go. Why could he have just let her go? Merlin help him. "It's not that. Cripes woman, don't think that that's why I won't accept your help."

She stopped in her tracks, turning around slowly. He could see a few nurses watching them with interest. Oh joy, they had an audience. "Then what is it, Draco? What possible reason could you have for choosing certain death? And don't try to tell me it's because you don't care because I know you do! I know you don't want to die. I could see it in your eyes at my apartment and I can see it in your eyes now."

He closed his eyes and swallowed in near embarrassment. Surely he wasn't that easy to read? Surely she couldn't see just exactly how much he desperately, desperately wanted to let her help him. How absolutely terrified he was. How much he needed someone to lean on, to share his weight of troubles with. How often and fervently he prayed that he wouldn't end up getting his wish and dying alone.

"I..it," he couldn't get anything out.

Hermione impatiently tapped her foot. Their audience was growing. Passersby and fellow patients were stopping to take in the scene of the 'apparently' heartbroken young lady and the evil lad that was causing her to be that way. "Spit it out, Malfoy."

He shook his head and turned his attention back to her. "I..I don't deserve it." Was all he could manage.

She closed her eyes and shook her head as if that was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. Either way she strode back towards him, grabbing his arm and dragging him back into the room they'd previously occupied.

She shut the door behind them and he could practically hear the mental groans of disappointment from their bloodthirsty audience.

She stamped her foot, making herself look positively adolescent. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard." He **almost **laughed but that would have just made her even angrier. "You deserve help and I want to give it to you. I told you once, or maybe I didn't, I can't even remember anymore, that I've already forgotten the past between us. Okay? It's gone. I don't care about it and I never want it to be brought up again, got it?"

To say he was shocked that he actually nodded in agreement to her demand was an understatement.

"Good. Now. You are someone that has—faster than I thought possible—become someone I care for. A person that I worry what happens to. Which means I'm already involved whether you want me to be or not." She brushed her hair behind her ear as he considered her words. "Now, if that's all, we can get on with figuring out how we—you," she amended. "Are going to pay for your treatment."

She grabbed up the stack of papers and started sorting through them.

"That's not all." He heard himself saying. Why hadn't he just run when he'd had the chance? Why didn't he run now?

She looked up to him. "What else is there?"

"How much would you be involved? How much would you be there for?"

"Well," she thought seriously. "I'd be there for all of your chemotherapy appointments. We're in a muggle hospital so obviously you can't just floo in. I'd have to drive you." She ignored his confused look and picked up her knocked over chair, sitting down in it and resting the pile of papers in her lap. "I'd need to be able check on you quite often to make sure you are alright and to help you if you needed it. And you will," she added in sympathy. "And well," she avoided his eyes. "You'd be hivveng whev hni." She mumbled the last part at an incoherent level.

"I'd what?"

"You'd be hivveng whev hni." She mumbled again.

"Out with it, Granger. What would I be?"

"Living with me." She met his wide eyes almost shyly.

"No." He shook his head. Was this woman crazy? Just how much of her life was she willing to give up for **him**? "Absolutely not."

"What? Why?" She sounded affronted but she had to know he'd object considering she'd been hesitant to tell him.

"Because you don't realize what you'd be getting yourself into. You would have me **living** in your own personal space, twenty-four-seven. There would be no escape from me and you'd be stuck playing nurse-maid to the sick kid. No, it's just not happening."

"Hey, now wait just a minute. I think I should have some say in this too and I know what I'm getting into. I am more than prepared for it," she wasn't about to share with him the previous experience she had with caring for her mother, at least, not right now. Instead, she thrust a paper from her stack towards his face. "Here, look at this. If you were to live with me it would be extremely cost effective. Even if you did insist on paying part of the rent. You'd be able to get rid of your own apartment and we could split the cost for everything else. That could save you nearly half of your paycheck right there!"

"It doesn't matter either way, Granger. I'm not going to have income to pay for any of it. I can't keep a job while I'm on chemotherapy and my job definitely does not have any type of **paid** medical leave. No, the only way this is going to work is the way I've planned for it to work all along. No costs, no worry."

"No life." Hermione added in, stubborn as ever.

"Then so be it." He put the paper back on her pile.

"That's so stupid. Your pride is going to get you killed."

"No, actually, cancer is going to do that. My pride is the only thing it can't take from me."

"What about the people that care about you?" She asked brining him back to the part of their earlier argument when he'd stressed that he knew he had people who care for him.

He sighed in frustration. "They'll be fine." He grabbed her shoulders. "_I'll_be fine."

Her eyes suddenly became bottomless pits of sympathy and his hands shot off of her as if he'd been shocked. He tried to backtrack. "I.."

She cut him off by gently taking his hand with both of hers. His eyes widened, snapping to hers. What was she doing? She pulled him over and gestured for him to sit on the bed, letting go of his hand. When he finally sat after a moment of hesitation she stood in front of him, her face still looking troubled. "What?" He had to ask, her actions were making him very wary. He wasn't use to such things.

"Please." He opened his mouth but she shook her head. "Just let me get this out," She waited for his affirmation. It took a little longer than she'd have liked but eventually he relented. "Please don't get offended, don't blow it off and please don't make it into a joke. For once, just talk. All barriers down, with no worry of rejection or negative reactions from anything you say that's the honest-to-God way you feel. I'll promise the same thing in return. Okay?" She waited for him to nod again. "Alright." She let out a deep sigh. "I honestly don't think you've accepted this yet."

He studiously clasped his hands together in his lap. "**I**," he emphasized the letter. "Honestly think I have."

"My evidence against your belief." Hermione listed off with her fingers. Their conversation had suddenly taken a very formal feeling to it, in spite of the fact that, for the first time ever, they'd promised to be completely honest with the other. "The fact that you _act_ like you're perfectly content to let this thing defeat you without putting up any fight at all. The fact that you are repeatedly dismissing help that is being offered to you that could save your life. Finally, that you have said, at least, three times since our conversation started today that you will be, quote unquote 'FINE'. Which you clearly are not and will not be if you don't get treatment. I think you somehow still see this as a temporary thing, like you're equivalating dying with being completely cured and still being able to live your life. I honestly don't think your subconscious is fully comprehending or accepting the finality of death, should you die this way."

He tried to hold in his temper, she had a right to her opinion, however wrong it may be. "One. equivalating is not a word." She glared. He hurried on, hoping to not be hit again. "Two. All the reasons you gave are my reasons for why I **have** accepted my disease and my fate. I'm fully willing to see this thing through, with my dignity. And, Granger, I know you weren't trying to be insensitive but I completely understand the concept of death. If you'd forgotten I lost my mother in the war and fully understand that I will never see her again—until I die as well, that is."

Hermione conceded one point with a nod. "No I was not trying to be insensitive. But I wasn't speaking of your acceptance of the finality of _other's_ deaths here. I was speaking of your acceptance of your _own_ death. Which is a completely different concept to grasp."

"And you don't think I have," he stated more than asked. "Grasped it, that is."

She shook her head. "I think you're in some weird form of denial. It's like you said yesterday, you can say, 'I'm Draco Malfoy, I have cancer,' until you're tight in the throat but it just doesn't quite sink in. I feel like you understand the possibility of your death but it just seems like you unconsciously think that this—your sickness and your death—is just interlude in your life that will eventually pass." She was struggling for words. She knew what she was feeling inside but she just couldn't quite verbalize it to a point that anyone else could understand. "I..it's just the finality that I don't feel like you grasp. I..I don't know if that makes any sense at all but that's how I feel."

He just shook his head, stubborn as ever and changed the subject. "Can I ask you a question? A question that you'll answer honestly? This whole conversation is about getting the truth out there, is it not?"

She thought about it before nodding her head. She'd really just wanted the truth to come from him, not from her but if this was the only way she could get it, she'd take it. "Fair trade then. For every one you ask, I get to ask you one."

Hermione found that small moment where he hesitated after her proposition more telling than almost anything else so far. It meant there were still things he was hiding. Things he knew she'd ask about. Things he most obviously didn't want to answer. His curiosity seemed to get the better of him though. "Why do you really want to help me? The honest-to-God-truth."

Now it was her turn to be hesitant. She bit her lip. She didn't dare try to lie to him did she? Not if she wanted the truth from him. She was all about integrity and did not relish the thought of being a walking-talking hypocrite if she did lie.

On the other hand, she was not in a state of mind to talk with anyone, especially someone she wasn't that close to, about her Mother's death and what sights she had been subjected to that past year. She more than ever, understood what it meant to be stuck between a rock and a hard place.

He noticed her hesitance, her almost unwillingness, and a look of almost melancholy acceptance settled over his face. To her it read of a mixture between disappointment and empathy. Disappointment that he didn't think she was going to get an honest answer out of her—like he'd expected it from her and she'd proven him right but instead of being smug about it, it saddened him. And empathy because he understood how she felt. Wanting to keep things in but needing to get them out. It was an almost wounding combination of emotions to be directed at the person responsible. A weirdly vulnerable and entirely honest facial expression. One that could not be faked. She knew what she had to do, if only just to prove him wrong—and to rid his face of it's disheartening look.

She steeled herself for what she was going to have to disclose. Though she'd mourned it everyday for the past eleven months, she had nearly refused to talk about her mother's illness for the past ten. She wouldn't talk about it with her friends. She wouldn't talk about it with her father. She wouldn't talk about her mother at all. In a way she felt she was dishonoring her mother by cutting her existence out her vocabulary all together, in another way she felt it was the route that saved her the most heartache.

"My mother suffered from leiomyosarcoma. The basic definition for it is a cancerous tumor that develops within a person's soft tissues cells," she refused to look at his face. She couldn't. Instead she looked over his shoulder, speaking as if she was reading from script. "It is a very aggressive type of cancer with a very low survival rate, about 15 percent. My mother's tumor was located in her abdomen and was not considered contained. Her tumor was greater than the average 10 centimeters and had wrapped around her small intestine, making it i-impossible to remove." She faltered. Her eyes burned, her throat was full and she was trying to hold it all at bay.

This was why she didn't talk about it. It had been her mother. Her own mother for heaven's sake. The woman who had given her life. The woman who had kissed her goodnight and bought her her first book. The woman who had encouraged her to fight for what she believed in and taught her compassion. The one person who Hermione had always known she could go to for comfort. The person she couldn't go to anymore.

She put a hand across her eyes. She refused to let her tears fall. Not a single tear had been shed from Hermione since her mother's funeral and she planned to keep it that way.

"You said was." His voice was rough like gravel. It didn't hold any other inflection into it but she felt more than saw that what she was sharing with him was hitting him hard.

She still refused to look at his face though. " She was on chemotherapy for almost a year before the doctors concluded that it was no longer doing her any good. It was actually doing more harm. They took her off the chemo and 'gave'," she spat the word. She found it absurd for a doctor to put a time limit on someone's life. Even if they were terminally ill, doctors had no say or know as to when a person's life would end. All they had were statistics and rough estimates. "Her three months to live," Hermione emotionlessly shook her hair out of her face. "She lasted seven," she cleared her throat. "She lost her fight eleven months ago. Cancer won."

Draco suddenly shot up from his sitting position bringing them so close together they were almost touching. His face was fierce, his body rigid. "How could you say she lost to cancer?" He demanded from her. When she tried to move away, he grabbed her wrist with the frail strength of a two-year old but it was enough to freeze her in place. "Huh? How? She lasted months longer than expected on chemotherapy. She lasted four months longer off chemotherapy than those know-it-all doctors had predicted! How can you call that losing?"

She didn't know whether to be scared or not. In terms of physical strength, Draco was weak with illness. A mild wind could take him down. The hand around her wrist was shaking with the effort but there was a certain intenseness in his body language that contradicted his frailty at the moment. His face was flushed and his eyes were wild but for the life of her she couldn't find it in herself to feel frightened of him. She felt the safest she had in months and that scared her far more than anything he was doing. "She still died."

"So what?!" He threw his hands wildly around him, while Hermione bristled at his comment before relaxing at his explanation. "We all die. Don't we. Eventually. We'll. All. Die," there was a certain frankness about him that was refreshing to her. No coddled words, no sparing feelings, no pussyfooting around the issue. Nothing like what she was use to. It was just him saying what he really felt. "Unfortunately your mother and I are members of the same club. Two of the few that have or will expire long before we should."

"But you don't—"

He cut her off. "But to say that she lost to cancer is wrong. It's an injustice. It downplays everything that she fought for," his eyes pierced her own, trying to make her understand. She couldn't break away from them. "She won just by having the courage to fight. Do you think she wasn't scared? Do you think she wasn't terrified of dying and of what that disease was going to do to her physically and mentally? Scared of looking weak in front of you?"

Hermione shook her head fiercely. "Of course she was scared. Anyone who says they wouldn't be, would be lying."

"And yet I bet you never once heard her complain. I bet she never vocalized her fear in front of you at all. I bet she held every last bit of that fear in until she was alone," again his eyes bore down into hers. She felt a wet trail glide down her cheek.

Was it all written on her face? He'd never even met her mother, how did he know of her strength, her character, her willingness to always put her loved one's needs ahead of her own, even when she was the one dying?

"That's how you would act if it were you," a sob escaped her throat. His voice softened considerably. "That type of quality is something not many people have. It takes a head of will and the heart of a lion to not only fight a disease when you're scared for your life but to fight yourself as well—your instincts, that fear. I bet there wasn't a day that went by that she didn't think about how much easier it would have been if she just gave up. But when she couldn't find it in her to fight for herself anymore she fought for you. You became her reason to fight. And she never gave up did she? I bet Death himself had to pull her away from you, kicking and screaming. And I'd bet she'd do it all over again if it would give her just one more day with you," he wilted before her eyes, nearly collapsing on the bed behind him. "As long as she fought, she won. It may have taken her life but it did not win."

She dropped down on the side of the bed, sitting next to him, tears still staining her cheeks.

His posture was slouched to the extreme, his face red and his breathing labored. The perfect picture of pain. She couldn't dwell on her mother now. It was too late to save her but **he** needed help here and now. He needed her and she was determined to be there for him. She just had to make him see the reason in it.

She twisted her body towards him, her knee resting on the bed in-between them. "Is that why you won't accept my help?" He owed her an honest answer. She prayed he'd give it to her. "You're scared?"

Her heart beat hard in her chest. "Terrified."

"Of fighting or dying?" She felt compelled to whisper the question.

His head turned to the side, hanging low, his eyes finally meeting hers. "Of both."

"Which is worse?"

His face creased and his eyes closed, his head turning back forward. "Dying...it seems so easy."

It was a weird way for him to put what he was feeling but it was one that she understood. "Anything seems easy to what would come with the choice to fight," she understood something else too, though. "But you envy my Mum."

He didn't even try to deny it. He couldn't after his earlier display. "I envy her courage and her character." He faced her again. "I don't think I have the courage to fight this. I'm not strong enough."

"What makes you think I'd be strong enough to fight it?" His eyebrows rose in question. "Earlier, you said if it were me, I'd be the same as her. What makes you think I'd be that strong?"

His forehead crinkled together, as if the answer were obvious. "Because you've shown it before."

"So have you." Her reply was an easy one. One she truly believed. But he just shook his head and she halted the argument with the palm of her hand. "So you think it would be better to just give in than to give it your all and still have it take you in the end?"

"I don't know. It seems the least painful option." He shrugged his shoulders but was shaking his head at the same time. "I just..it keeps coming back to dignity and pride being the only things I can have left in the end." He rubbed between his eyes. "And having someone see me at my worst like that...when I can't even take care of myself..." He raised his head, his eyes begging her to understand. "The alternative has to be better than that."

"I see your point, I really do but you really don't think it's worse just to give up? To give in, to bow down to it?"

Again he shrugged his shoulders.

"Draco..." She paused trying to gather her thoughts. "I think you can go ask any person off the street and they'd tell you the same thing." She waited for him to incline his head in question. "That there is more nobility in fighting and allowing yourself to be seen in weakness than there is dignity in giving up and dying for your pride."

He seemed to put serious thought to her last words. So much so, that when his head nodded affirmative she was honestly shocked that she'd gotten through to him. "You're right. I don't doubt the truth of that. I just..." His carefully composed mask seemed to chip away even further. "I just can't stop thinking that if it's this hard to just decide whether or not I want to fight, that the actual battle will be almost unbearable."

She nodded but waited until he met her eyes to drive her logic home. "Then make it easy." She cut his protest off. "The question you need to ask yourself is not if you should fight but if your life is worth fighting for." She gave it a minute to sink in. "Is it?"

"I don't know. I know... I know I don't want to die."

God, she wanted to shout victory from the rooftops. It wasn't an agreement to let her help but she'd been trying to get him to admit he wasn't as ready for death as he played to be for two days now. She'd known if she could get him that far, then she'd have her best chance at getting through to him.

"Then it's worth it." She again shook off his protests. "And when you can't find it in you to fight for yourself anymore, fight for someone else. Someone that cares for you."

She was saying it without actually saying it. If nothing else he could fight for her. Or Liely. Or even his deceased Mother who would always care for him, even in death.

He didn't reply to her, instead he seemed lost in thought.

She didn't know what possessed her to do it as she slowly leaned down and rested the middle of her forehead on his shoulder. The contact between them was an awkward one. She held her self to the point that no other part of her but her forehead was touching him and he did the same.

It was a stiff and uncomfortable joining but neither moved away. Both needed the contact, the comfort, the reassurance that someone was there and that that someone knew what the other was going through and was willing to try to understand it.

It was several minutes of silence later that Hermione finally spoke again. Her voice was quiet, a mere whisper in the room that was still screaming with questions of what the future would hold. "I almost didn't make it through my grief when my mother passed. To this day, I still don't know if I will." She felt like she was taking a giant leap. She was revealing as much about herself in trying to gain his acceptance as she was learning about him, if not more. It made her feel entirely too vulnerable exposing such a fragile part of her core to her once school bully but she was too far in to stop now. "If I were to lose another person I care about, any person, no matter how big or small, to the same disease, especially so soon after I lost her... I don't think I could take it."

He didn't respond but she hadn't expected him to. "It would break me." She said it frankly, no question in her voice. Her only movement was to reach up and wipe a tear, that was trying to form, out of her eye. Otherwise she was entirely still. "Please," she jerkily rubbed her forehead against his shoulder. "Please, don't let me break." She couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice.

For what felt like an eternity there was no response from him, no indication that he had even heard her. She'd have almost worried about his current wellbeing had she not been able to feel him taking even—if slightly too shallow—breaths beneath her forehead. When she'd about decided he'd fallen asleep, he gave a deep rumbling sigh that started at his toes and transferred all the way over to Hermione. His voice was still rough when he spoke but she swore it sounded stronger, less fragile though resigned. "I can't promise you anything but to try."

She latched on to his arm, her eyes closing tight as she tried to hold back her tears of relief. Her nails were probably digging into his arm, she'd likely leave bruises on his now delicate skin but he never once complained. "That's all I'm asking."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: My list of reasons for why it's been a while since I posted. 1. Had my wisdom teeth out last Friday and haven't felt too well. 2. I'm not overly in love with this chapter. Part of it's information and part of it is getting Draco settled before things really begin.

On another note, thank you so much to all that reviewed last chapter! You renewed some of my motivation to continue writing this story. I love to hear what you all think, even if it's just a short request for an update. :) Thanks especially to the long 'Guest' review I received. Your words really mean more to me than you can ever imagine. You made me get all misty. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and I'm thrilled that anything I wrote could mean something more to you than just a story.

Please continue to let me know what you think. Keep me going! :)

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"Damn, it's a good thing you've got that creepy little bag of yours, or moving all of my stuff into your apartment would have been really difficult." Draco shouted at Hermione as she entered her apartment ahead of him while he followed behind at a more sedate pace.

He'd meant what he'd said though. His back was already twinging with pain and all he'd done was use his wand to shrink down his items to mouse-size and pile them inside Hermione's freaky, bottomless bag. Now, he'd have to take all of those things back out and set them up inside someone else's apartment. That he was supposed to live in. And not feel awkward about. Right.

Why had he agreed to this again? Oh, right. Because of that woman. Because of that selfish, know-it-all, domineering, admittedly brilliant, unbelievably caring and completely selfless woman and the fact that she was an accomplished master at the art of guilt trips. And man, had she laid one on him.

Naturally, of course, she hadn't done it on purpose. Or, at least he didn't think she had. He honestly thought she was worried about her own wellbeing if he were to die. Which, though confused him greatly, he supposed he understood. One didn't bounce back easily from their mother's death—especially when it looked as though the cause of said death was about to take another victim of acquaintance.

"You don't even have that much stuff, Draco." She called back at him as he was walking through the door. He shut it behind him as she stuck her head out from the kitchen. "And I don't know why you call my bag creepy. It's magical, just like anything else you're used to." Her head disappeared again.

He followed her into the kitchen where she was already laying his items back out on the table, sorting them into piles. The girl was amazingly efficient. "It's not the bag that's creepy," he explained. "It's what comes **out** of the bag that's creepy."

Hermione looked up at him as if he were mad. "How so?" She honestly hadn't hardly taken anything out of the bag in front of him.

"Lock picks?"

She made a grumble of a noise, somewhere between a snort of amusement and a growl of annoyance. "You were going through my stuff."

He at least had the grace to look a bit sheepish at his actions. "I was just...you know, curious and I just took a little peep."

Hermione had to work to smother her smile. No way would he get away with such things in the future but his lame attempt at justifying his actions was rather funny. "The lock picks are practical. If I were to lose my wand, I would still have another means to get into a locked room, should I feel the need."

He nodded with the practicality of it, though he thought he just might die if he ever lost his wand. "And rest assured, you snoop in my room like you did in my bag..." she let her sentence trail off for affect, taking great pride in the fact that he was hanging on her every word, waiting for her threat against him or his manhood. "And I might just have to use some of the other things from my bag."

His eyes widened considerably and she couldn't hold back her smile this time. "The rolling pin?"

She actually laughed out loud. "Perhaps. You never know when such things will come in handy." She finished sorting his stuff out on the table. "I try to keep anything I could possibly ever need in that bag. You have no idea how many times it has saved my life."

"Yeah," he mumbled under his breath. "I can see how often a scanty red dress would come in handy."

Her cheeks pinkened and she thought about hitting him but stopped herself. He had a point after all. Instead, she chuckled again. "Yeah, so maybe everything isn't quite so practical. You probably wouldn't believe me though if I told you I used that to distract a Death Eater once."

He looked skeptical. "What? No way. Surely no one would be stupid enough to be—" he stopped himself with a smile, she wasn't use to seeing, lighting up his face. "Oh, who am I kidding, of course I believe it. Bunch of idiots, all of them." She knew he included himself in that assessment and hoped she could not only help him with his illness but with his sense of self-worth as well. "You have to tell me how," he was excited now, his mind probably coming up with ways as to which such an improbable sounding thing had come to pass. "Who was it? No wait. Don't tell me. Let me guess. Was it..."

"Wait, wait, wait." She stopped him in his tracks. "Think on it for a bit. I've got to make dinner and you've got to set up all of your stuff." He looked like a child who'd just been told he wasn't getting dessert if he didn't eat a double helping of vegetables at supper. But finally huffed his assent, knowing she was right.

"Your room is down the hall, last door on the left." She pointed down the hallway attached to the living room. "My room is directly across from yours. The bathroom is right down the wall from your room and the door across from it—the door closest to us—is a small study." She went back to the table and started handing his things to him. "Lots of books and research materials in there. Even my laptop when I'm not carrying it around in my bag."

She said it more in passing than anything else before she realized her error of assuming. She often forgot how much of a depraved childhood he had when it came to items of the muggle world. "A laptop is like a portable computer," she explained to him, he still looked confused. She just waved a hand at him. "I'll show you later. Wait," she stopped, a look of mock seriousness on her face. "You do know what electricity is, right?"

He only glared at her.

She smiled back at him. "Just checking. You'll find the light switch on the wall right by your door. No need for candles or anything." She placed his last item on top of the pile in his hands, watching it tip precariously. "Just one of the advantages of living in the muggle world."

She could hear him mocking her in a high pitched voice under his breath, her smile only grew. She liked teasing him. Her cheeks actually hurt from her continuous smiling. It was something she hadn't done much of lately.

"So cranky. Someone needs a nap." She said it in an ironic voice, giving him a smirk as he turned around to glare at her.

He stuck his tongue out at her and she saw a quirk at the corner of his mouth. She was glad he could tell she was only kidding with him, the old Malfoy likely would have bitten her head off. He turned back around and started walking down the hallway, only making it a few steps before she heard him mumble a frustrated, "Women," under his breath.

She just shook her head with a laugh and started on her chore of dinner. She wasn't just cooking for one anymore.

- -hp- -

"Okay, let me get this straight," he stared at her over his plate of pasta. "You weren't even wearing the dress when this happened?"

He threw his head back and laughed so hard, Hermione was afraid he might just tumble right out of his chair.

He continued through his chuckles. "And these were the men who thought themselves fit to rule the entire wizarding and muggle worlds! Taken down by a teenage muggleborn—waggle something shiny in front of them and their like hounds waiting for a meal." He wiped at his eyes, while she just chuckled along with him. She couldn't believe how far stupidity reached either.

"I mean, yes, a beautiful woman in a revealing red dress would stop any man in his tracks Death Eater or not," Hermione's breath caught and she looked up at him but he didn't seem to realize what he'd implied. She let out a breath of relief and continued on like nothing had happened. "But, bloody hell, they must be banging their heads against their cell bars as we speak."

She was laughing with him until she looked down at his nearly untouched plate, her smile turning into a frown.

He must have been watching her as he caught on rather quickly. "I'm just not very hungry." He mumbled towards her, eyes downcast, rubbing at his arm.

She nodded in understanding. "You should still force yourself to eat though."

His eyes flashed up to hers in anger before the emotion in them fizzled and died. "I'm aware." Was all he offered back.

She nodded before standing up to clear the table before bringing a pile of papers over and spreading them out in front of them.

"Alright, you're going to have to explain all of this to me again." He started immediately when she sat back down. He'd been thinking (worrying) about it on and off for the last day and a half—ever since she'd proposed his options to him after they'd left the hospital.

She picked up a piece of paper by his left elbow. "You have a few options. One is joining a clinical trial which has both it's possible benefits and it's drawbacks. The major benefit in your case is that some clinical trials will cut the cost of a patients cancer treatment nearly in half because of the experimentation involved in the program. This involves experimental medications and treatment procedures that, being used on patients with certain types of cancer, will give the doctors evidential proof and statistics to whether or not this treatment is or isn't more effective than the current treatment plan available for that specific type of cancer. You can obviously see the drawbacks to it. It isn't guaranteed that the medication you will be receiving will help you as effectively as the current go to drug or if it will even help you at all. That is why I don't like this option. It may cut down your cost but it's not a sure thing that it will even be helping you in any way or that it won't even just create more side effects to add to your current symptoms."

He nodded at her with good reason. He wasn't all too thrilled about being poked and prodded like some experimentation guinea pig anyways.

"Now, option two, and by far your best option is applying for grants and financial aid assistance from some of the many non-profit organizations who raise money for things such as this. People who are eligible and meet all of the requirements set forth by said organizations can basically get free money to help pay for their chemotherapy if they are financially struggling. These organizations include Cancer Societies, Leukemia and Lymphoma Associations and even other lesser groups."

She gave him a few stapled pages, walking around the table to stand behind him and point at important information.

"Now, the possibility of these grants and aids covering your entire cost are slim to none but likely we can get them they will cover the bulk of your costs. So what we'd need to do then is seek a hospital that works with non-insured patients. That'll actually be pretty easy considering there are millions upon millions out there who don't hold health insurance either. Out of those we'd figure out our best option for cancer treatment...and well I've already done that. We'd be looking at South-East London General, which overall has a very spectacular rating for cancer treatment as far as non-insured hospitals go. From there we'd work out a payment plan with them and there is a possibility that they could even give you some financial assistance as well. It will especially help if you are willing to take the generic brand of chemo-drugs versus the more expensive brand name drugs."

She added with a shrug he could feel across his back. He was having trouble focusing. He really wished she'd back up and give him some space, he could feel his face flushing all over and was pretty sure his fever was coming back into swing and her own body heat adding to his wasn't helping things. Not to mention she smelled really nice.

She leaned around him to grab something off of the table. "Your third and fourth options, well... are kind of crappy, so I'm not going to go through them again. Honestly, Draco, these are by far your best two choices." She leaned up against the table, looking him straight in the eye. "And you know which one I think would better suit your needs even though it would be a little more work."

He did know. She'd made that abundantly clear and he really couldn't find it in himself to disagree with her. He still really didn't like the guinea pig options but then, on the other hand, option two still felt a lot like begging for handouts to him. Though he supposed if that's what those organizations were created for then he shouldn't feel that way.

Overall it really wasn't a hard choice at all, while, at the same time it was possibly the biggest choice of his life.

"Number two. Option number two." He clarified. "You're right. Of course, you're right." He quickly blinked through the haze of panic that was trying to overtake his brain. "It's really the only option that makes sense as far as any actual assurance to a proactive treatment plan goes."

God, okay. He was really going to do this. Things would get worse before they ever had the chance to get better. The question of how much worse, was the uncertainty that had his paranoia and overactive imagination in overdrive, providing his mind with images and promises of the future that nearly had him surrendering to the disease on the spot.

A shiver of pure terror raced down his spine just as Hermione put her the back of her hand to his forehead and another shiver raced through him for an entirely different reason.

"For goodness sakes," waiting for him to get his feet under himself, she helped him up, though he didn't need it. "Your fever is back. You really should just change for the night and go to bed. Sweating the thing out would probably be your best option."

He lightly, if ever so firmly, pulled his arm out of her grasp, making a show of being able to walk without her assistance. "You're not my mother you know."

Hermione's face scrunched up in sympathy a moment before he took a sharp intake of breath, realizing what he'd said. He visibly shook himself, Hermione, of course, close by in case he tumbled.

"I mean, I can take care of myself," he made it to his door, Hermione trailing behind him. "For now." He added bitterly. "When I need your help I'll ask, alright?"

He was trying to hold back from snapping at her. He had no right to ever be angry with this woman again but damn him if he was going to give up his independence so easily. She just stood there with that ever knowing smile on her face and for a moment he thought he would scream but he didn't.

"Somehow I don't quite believe that." She finally gave but let him continue on his own, leaning her shoulder on his opened doorjamb. "It's not a bad thing to need help sometimes, Draco. We all do."

He put a hand over his eyes and sat down on the edge of his bed. If this conversation didn't change from his frailty and faults soon, the dam was going to break and he was going to wail. So he changed the subject.

"So how loud did Potter and Weasley scream when you told them the new charity case you'd be taking in?" He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, it helped when she nearly growled at him for his choice of wording—he couldn't help but smirk, though he covered it with a hand.

When she didn't answer he finally looked up to see her shuffling her foot.

Surely it hadn't gone that badly or he wouldn't be here. He figured they'd both be back to yelling and cursing his very existence when they found out—despite what they'd said when he'd visited them at their residences the few days prior. Some things just never changed and they'd probably just figured Draco was back to his old tricks and trying to take advantage of their poor, caring friend.

But surely they wouldn't have cut off all contact with her had she refused to hear their reason, would they? And Granger wouldn't sacrifice her lifelong friends just for a chance at saving his miserable life, would she? No, either of those two thoughts were utterly absurd. So that only left one option left.

"You haven't told them, have you?"

Her head shot up, fire in her eyes and he wondered if he'd maybe said that a little too smugly (old habits died hard where Pothead and Weasel were concerned). But he was trying.

"For you information, no, I haven't told them." She stuck her nose up in the air, just how she had always done it a Hogwarts. Now he stifled a small smile but oh how that used to infuriate him so. "I have been far too busy with preparations for your treatments and finding financial sources to pay for your chemotherapy to socialize with anyone else, including my best friends."

She was trying to throw the blame back on him, he realized before he let his anger get the better of him. One thing about being in therapy was he saw a lot of things now that he'd missed before in his haze of anger. Like the fact that she was looking guilty and was trying to throw the blame on him as the reason she had not called her friends to tell them such life altering news. Interesting.

"Too busy to handle a floo call? Send a letter." He asked her in his superior tone. He knew he shouldn't but damn he need to get some emotions out or he was just going to blow. "Or maybe one of those tele-mobile things you muggles find oh so useful? Too busy for that too?"

She stood up straight, arms crossed, completely incensed. "Yes, I was too busy, you ungrateful goat. And it's called either a telephone or a mobile phone, with are two completely—"

"How long has it been since you've talked to either of them." He cut her off, "or the littlest Weasley for that matter?"

Hermione stamped her foot. "Her name is Ginny. And you could at least call them by their names now. I'm sure they don't call you Ferret anymore."

"No, apparently goat is a better fit, according to you, huh?" He could concede to her point but didn't dare. He was already fighting to keep the smile off his face as it was, he loved getting her riled up. His glare hardened and she wouldn't meet his eyes. "How long?"

"How long what?" She was completely yelling at him now, arms throw out to the sides, eyes finally meeting his and yes, yes there was guilt there, he wasn't sure what for though.

"How long has it been since you've talked to any of them?"

"None of your damn business!" Whoa, his eyes widened at that one. This wasn't the little girl he'd used to pick on at school anymore. That witch had grown up.

"Fine." He softened, not wanting to get back into the territory of cruel that he'd owned at Hogwarts. "But I think they deserve to know, at the very least."

She stared at him wild-eyed for one long moment before she covered her face with her hands and screamed in her throat when she realized he'd baited her. "Damn it, Draco! I hate it when you do that!"

She turned on her heel and started walking until she stopped just before his door shut behind her.

"Why? Why would it make any difference whether they know or not? It wasn't going to change anything?"

The question caught him off guard. No, this wasn't the girl he'd gone to school with, indeed. That girl would have run to tell her friends if she'd so much as grown a new freckle. This girl...This girl didn't even seem to care about telling her best friends about her new living arrangement and all she'd gotten herself into by agreeing to help Draco. He couldn't believe it but perhaps there was something he could do for her in return, after all.

"Because they're your best friends and they care about you."

She didn't say anything else as she shut the door behind her, only yelling out after that had been done. "Get some sleep. And don't forget to bundle yourself up, you need to sweat that fever out." There was a long pause before she added more quietly. "We have your first chemo appointment next week."


	7. Chapter 7

Truly sorry about the wait for this chapter. It's that time of year as far as being a college student goes, so updates will be fewer and farer between than in the beginning but hopefully always quicker than it took me to get this one out. This chapter is a bit of calm and humor before it all really begins.

Thanks again for the reviews! They are amazing and I hope to keep hearing from you all. Tell me what ya think.

* * *

The week had passed quickly and before he knew it he was exactly where he didn't want to be. He wanted to be back at Hermione's apartment laying in his bed or laying on the couch, poking fun at Granger for something or talking to Lily, who, thankfully had been allowed to stay with him after he'd convinced—begged—Hermione to let her move in too. He wanted to be anywhere but here because here he couldn't play ignorant about his problems.

The clinic itself had smelled strongly of antiseptic even before they'd made it through the doors. It burned his nostrils and filled him with even more distaste for the place than he usually had.

He'd discussed, well, told Hermione before that he absolutely refused to let her go back to the exam room with him. He wasn't and didn't need to be treated like a child, no matter how much he didn't want to go back there. He'd do it, if only to redeem his sense of courage in her eyes. He'd do it fearlessly. He'd do it without fuss. He'd do it because he'd secretly snatched that really soft and wonderful smelling blanket from Hermione's house, shrunk it down, and hidden it in his pocket. He didn't know why but it made him feel better to have the blanket there with him. Stronger even.

Needless to say, though, that when he'd arrived and had been guided through the steps they'd take that day, he'd been extremely relieved to hear that there was no exam room in his immediate future. No, weirdly enough in the treatment center there was just a row of clinical yet comfortable looking reclining chairs, one set up at each little station. From what the nurse had explained to him, this was where his chemotherapy would take place. He just had to pick a chair and the nurse would start his treatments from there. Not only that but each chair had a single plastic chair right beside it so the patients driver could sit next to them while their treatment was taking place.

That's where he was now, sitting in his chair—he'd chosen the one closest to the exit—rubbing at the mini blanket he could feel in his pocket and waiting for his nurse to return with his file and his medication. Hermione sat in the chair next to him, shooting concerned glances towards him every few seconds.

Getting tired of the looks, Draco turned his head towards her and just stared. Glared, really. It didn't take long for her to catch on.

"I'm just nervous, okay?" She basically snapped at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Why yes, Granger because I can see reason as to why _you_ should be the one that's nervous here."

Her eyes turned to slits. "Quit being an arse. I'm nervous for _you_. I'm worried about how your body is going to handle the medication."

He nodded, trying not to roll his eyes and failing. "I know you are, Granger. You've only mentioned it five hundred times since this morning. And lectured me on it." He let out a huff and mimicked the words he'd already heard twice since they'd left her apartment. "You may feel dizzy, woozy, or have a sense of vertigo. Afterwards you may fall victim to nausea and vomiting. It's likely that you'll feel overall weak, even more so than you do now. You'll probably be extremely tired for several days afterwards. You're more prone to infection because your white cell count will be low. Blah, blah, blah. And oh, by the way Draco, you will lose your hair but at least you're a wizard and have access to hair growth potion that will grow it back immediately. That's some consolation isn't it, Draco? That's something positive to look to. That'll make it all worth it." He finished sarcastically a scowl firmly in place on his face.

Hermione was full-on glaring at him now, a sharp retort hopefully on the tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth and Draco was almost gleeful at the impending argument but as quickly as she opened her mouth, she closed it. She closed her eyes and took in two deep breaths before opening them and fixing him with a hard stare. "I'm not going to argue with you. I know you're itching for a fight as a distraction and that you're being a complete and utter git because you are scared. It's okay to be scared Draco but picking a fight isn't going make it any better."

He just continued to glare at her, his mouth turning into a sneer. "Speak for yourself, it'd make _me_ feel a whole lot better."

He'd muttered the last under his breath but she heard him anyway. "For now." She stated simply. "But after, when this is over, and you're side effects ebb enough to give you coherent thought, you will feel guilty for the things you would say and it would just turn into another reason for you to dislike yourself."

He crossed his arms and turned away from her, muttering obscenities under his breath. She just sat back in her chair letting him carry on in his crankiness.

He saw the wisdom in her words, he did. But he still wanted to fight. He wanted to beat something. He again rubbed at the blanket in his pocket. He wanted to punch and kick and scream and demand to know, why him. Why?

He looked up at the woman sitting next to him and for one near-endless moment, he hated himself. Why was he being so weak? Especially in front of a woman who was so strong. Where did it come from? And how much did it cost?

Despite what he thought the truth about himself, he hated even thinking the word 'weak' in the same sentence as his name, unless the word 'not' was in-between them. Draco was **not** weak.

But, oh, Lord. Who was he kidding? If it weren't for the woman in front of him, trying to help him, caring about him—he'd likely be in the fetal position, either crying himself to sleep or praying to God, in a pathetic attempt to convince the Almighty that his puny, wretched, worthless life was for some reason worth saving. Or at least begging for his death to be quick and painless—was an aneurism too much to ask for? He supposed he'd even settle for being hit by a bus.

He studied her, glad that she seemed unaware he was doing so.

She was a Saint. He still wanted to fight with her but truly he knew she must be an angel in disguise. Who else would put aside their own entirely just-anger and revulsion of a person they truly despised in order to help save their life? And it wasn't just that. No. She could have just referred him a few places and then sent him on his sickly way—having cleared her conscious of any unnecessary guilt she felt towards kicking him out the door.

But her? She didn't close the door in his face. Instead, she opened it wide and offered him a place of reprieve. A place where fear and eventual death weren't his only companions. But one where hope took a side seat next to his terror and eventual death took a backseat-maybe instead of a front-seat-certainty.

"_And when you can't find it in you to fight for yourself anymore, fight for someone else. Someone that cares for you."_

He could fight for her. He was sure. He couldn't find much will alone to face the trials that would ail him but for her it was available by the gallon. She deserved anything her big heart contented a thousand times over the almost nonexistent amount that he deserved to even live and if she wanted him alive, to not die of cancer—as her mother had—well, then... that was something she should get. Not another disappointment. Not another devastation that would be bestowed upon her.

Both their lives had been plagued with constant trials and tests measuring integrity, courage and strength. And with those trials, the two of them had had every chance in the world to end up in the same place in life—should she have cared a little less or him a little more, should she have been born into his family and him into hers—literally thousands of factors and any single event could have changed everything, and yet... the results were in and she had triumphed in every obstacle thrown her way and still was.

And he... hadn't. But maybe could start now. Start by repaying her for everything she'd ever given. For everything that she was giving him. For everything she was giving up for him. _That_ he could fight for.

But damn it all, he still couldn't quell the irrational desire he had to pick a fight with her. So he did what he did best: he baited her. He pulled the shrunken blanket out of his pocket—no bigger than the size of a handkerchief—and laid it across his lap, waiting for her to notice and when she did, boy, she sure didn't disappoint.

"Is that my blanket?" Her eyes widened and her voice rose.

Draco just turned a slow, saccharine smile on her. "Why, yes. Yes it is."

She seemed at a loss for words for a moment before pink infused her cheeks and her nose scrunched up in anger as she immediately came to a conclusion. "You were in my room!"

He almost wanted to clap his hands in childish pleasure but the thunder in her eyes stopped him. "Draco Malfoy, I swear to you if you don't stop going through my things, you will regret it. I will make you so sorry."

An involuntary shiver went down his spine but he didn't let it show, instead he gave her doe eyes. "But Hermione, I didn't go through your things again. I didn't even go in your room." He explained innocently, hands held out as if in a pleading gesture.

She seemed to deflate for a moment, confused. "But, then..how?"

"Liely did."

The anger was back with vengeance. She ranted at him like a mad woman, oblivious to the other patients and nurses staring wide-eyed at her. Finally he couldn't hold back anymore and a smile split across his face, hard laughter came on its coattails.

Hermione just stood up and stamped her foot, giving a 'damn it, Draco', before storming off in the direction of the bathrooms.

He continued laughing long after she was gone. Sure he felt a little bad but he also felt in higher spirits than he had all day.

Flustering Hermione Granger, by far his favorite pastime.

- -hp- -

Hermione made sure to keep the rigidness in her shoulders and her stride clipped until she slipped behind the security of the bathroom door. She leaned against it letting her body relax and a smile crawl across her face.

She moved towards the sinks and deliberately took her time washing her hands. That had been kind of fun and turns out she was a much better actor than she'd previously thought. He'd bought every second of it.

She grabbed a paper towel, wiping her hands. She'd known the blanket was gone and she'd known exactly where it had gone too. Draco had mentioned how cozy the blanket was several times when he'd been in the hospital the week before. When he'd been discharged she'd taken it home, washed it and folded it away in her bedroom—where she usually kept it. When it had come up missing two days ago it didn't take much of a detective to figure out where it had gotten off too.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, wiping her face off with the slightly dampened paper towel. She'd known he was trying to bait her, to pick a fight again and this time she'd let him succeed. Or feel as though he had. She smiled at her reflection. Fighting over something as innocuous as a blanket she could allow. She played angry and let him get his jollies out and no harsh words were said other than vague threats towards Draco's manhood that he only ever took half seriously anyway.

She also liked seeing him laugh. Draco with a large smile, silver eyes glittering with mischief, and his deep, sincere laughter rumbling throughout his body and straight to waiting ears was enough to make any woman swoon. And despite the fact that she'd never admit it out loud, Hermione was no exception.

She very well thought that she could waste a lot of time in the future just trying to come up with ways to create that very scene over and over again. She realized now she'd never actually heard it back when they were in school but now that she had she was pretty positive that she was falling in love with the very sound of the man's laugh. Lord help her. Remembering where she was and why they were here, she sobered quickly, her smile vanishing. Draco wasn't going to have much to laugh about in the coming days. She'd have to think hard or it just might be a long time before she got even so much as a smirk out of him again.

She grabbed the door handle with a deep breath, swinging it open she walked back towards Draco and the coming treatment that was the only hope he had left.


	8. Chapter 8 (New)

**REVISED REPOST**. I have, after much contemplation, decided to delete the last chapter I posted. I thank all of you who reviewed and said you enjoyed it but I personally disliked it. I felt it not only didn't fit in with the story how I wanted it to but that it was rushed. I realize now what an error it was for me to start posting this story without it being completed. Not only does it make me feel rushed and like my work is not as good as it would be otherwise (I know I can do better) but it is not at all fair to all of my loyal readers, who've stuck with me this far. I hate making you all wait as long as you do in between chapters but it's too late to go back now. I am though, without a doubt going to finish this story.

Anyway, as for this chapter, maybe it wasn't as bad as I've convinced myself but either way, now, I've written and rewritten this chapter at least three or four times until I finally came up with something that I quite like. I really really hope you all do too. It's similar to the last but still quite different. Let me know what you think.

So, completely disregard the chapter 8 I posted back in December, if you read it. Go back and read chapter 7 if you wish but here is a short recap to get you in the right frame of mind:

Chapter 7: Hermione and Draco arrive at Draco's first chemo appointment. Draco contemplates the reality of his situation. Draco pokes fun at Hermione to distract himself from the coming treatment. Hermione lets him. The chapter ends with Hermione pondering how things are going to change with Draco's treatments and how they are his only hope.

Now, I hope you read on and please tell me what you think at the end. I really need your reviews to help me out here. And again, I'm so sorry for all this confusion and thank you for your continued reading.

.

* * *

She didn't know how to deal with Draco.

A week in and they'd already hit a snag, a Draco-induced snag, but a snag none-the-less.

It had been seven days since his first chemo treatment and thankfully, Draco wasn't much worse for the wear yet. She knew with time and continued treatments that that would change and that the side-affects would eventually hit him hard but so far Draco only had a further decrease in appetite, increased fatigue and further muscle weakness. The nausea was on and off but hadn't been too terrible. Draco had only thrown up once.

All that being said it was Draco's whole demeanor that had changed with the one treatment. Thus, the snag.

Anymore, he didn't tease her, he didn't talk to her, he barely even looked her in the eye.

Early on, she'd had an idea as to why and her conclusion had worried her a great deal. She'd almost convinced herself that he'd taken to giving up again. That after feeling the effects of his first chemo treatment he'd decided living wasn't worth it after all.

She knew what Draco had promised her, she knew he'd said he'd try. She also knew that Draco didn't make or take promises lightly but that still didn't stop the doubt from creeping up in her mind. She simply didn't know what else could have caused such a drastic change in his personality.

It had taken a few days of sheer anxiety and stress over the whole situation, not to mention over the side affects he was facing, before she'd finally come upon the real conclusion.

Draco had woken up in the middle of the night and the sound of his retching had broken through her sleep. She had been up and out of bed and through the bathroom door immediately. She hadn't gotten two words out though before he was yelling at her to leave. She'd, of course, refused, instead taking a damp cloth and wiping it across his forehead as he was clinging to her toilet. It was doing this that she noticed his retching had become mingled with sobs and tears were painfully trailing down his face.

It finally hit her that it wasn't resignation that had been overtaking him but embarrassment. In all accuracy he had really been closer to being entirely mortified, than merely embarrassed, at her seeing him in such a state, coupled with the fact that she would continue to see him in such a state and even states worse. But finally it had all clicked into place. If there was one thing that Draco Malfoy hated it was being vulnerable and that's exactly what he was once the chemo weakened his body even further. He knew the weakness would worsen and he would have to rely on her more and more. Reality of his situation had finally seemed to set in with him and he wasn't having an easy go of dealing with his new found understanding.

But at the time, watching him break down on her bathroom floor, she'd loathed to leave him and instead stayed by his side, assuring him that it wouldn't matter if he was covered in warts, throwing up slugs or even Voldemort himself, she would not leave his side. She'd assured him he had nothing to be embarrassed about, especially since it was something that was not under his control.

Hermione had also shared with him a few embarrassing moments of her own. Her time spent as a cat courtesy to her mistake with some polyjuice potion had been right up at the top of the list—of course, she didn't share with him the particular reason for that batch of polyjuice potion, she was pretty sure that information wouldn't serve to make him feel any better. While she'd talked, and wiped his face and rubbed his back he'd calmed some but still when the next morning came the silence seemed even more painful.

It had been five days since then. Five days of near silence. Silence that she wasn't sure she could take much longer. She missed Draco. The Draco she'd been getting to know, slowly but surely. The Draco that, despite the distance of uncertainty that still separated them, knew things about her that her own friends hadn't the slightest about. Things about herself, things about her mother, and just things in general.

Most of all she missed his laugh. It had been seven days and not a single chuckle had escaped him, let alone his genuine, belly-deep, curl-your-toes-and-try-not-to-swoon laughter that Hermione had gotten so fond of so quickly.

She'd tried taunting it out of him but to no avail. She'd laid 'traps' even but still, gone were his slightly offensive jokes and the play fighting between them. He didn't even try to rile her up anymore. He didn't make fun of her muggle appliances, her stumpy, 'matronly' pajamas, the fact that he'd discovered her collection of slightly naughty romance novels strategically hidden deep within the confines of the many other books on her bookshelf, or the fact that he'd come to the conclusion that she'd had a tiny crush on Neville in their first year. Nothing. And she'd even let the last one purposely slip, hoping to get a _something_ out of him. And yet, it had all been for nothing.

Removing herself from her thoughts, she closed her book and moved towards the hallway. Draco had been having a good day today side-affect wise but he was currently taking a nap.

Now though, she needed to get him up. He'd been out cold for the past two hours and he needed to get around and out of bed. He needed to perhaps even get a little exercise in him. Despite what he thought, it really would make him feel better.

Allowing him to stay in bed and sleep to his heart's content would not be a good idea. She was sure he could sleep for three days straight and not fulfill his need for rest, something she'd told him, but letting him try would only be a giant step away from his road to recovery. He needed to keep his body moving and active and not allow it to become unfamiliar with such tasks. He couldn't aid his body into becoming even more rundown than the medication and illness were already making it. She wouldn't allow it. And one day he'd thank her for that. But today wasn't that day. Today his near silence and one-word answers still remained.

"Draco! Wake up!" She stood outside his room—as per his restrictions—with the door still slightly cracked so she could see in—as per hers.

He wasn't waking.

She banged on the front of his door loudly.

Still he didn't budge.

His lack of response was worrying but she covered it up with her aggravation. She finally stomped into the room and shook him awake.

It took longer than she liked for him to wake up and become fully aware of his surroundings. His lack of constant lucidity was just another thing for her to add to her list of concerns.

Eyes finally open, he just stared at her. Something she'd now come to define as uncertainty lingered in his eyes and, as all times previous, she masked the hurt that that look made her feel.

She hated it but even as she thought of it she knew there was more to the matter than him not fully trusting her with his illness. Vulnerability wasn't always logical. And even trusting someone as much as she wanted him to trust her didn't mean he would ever willingly want her to see him in such an unkempt state of illness.

As crass as it sounded thought, her seeing him at his most vulnerable was just something that he was going to have to get over. Something she would have to try to make as painless as possible for him.

They hadn't reached the point yet where Hermione had to do things such as help him in the restroom or help bathe him and they hopefully never would. She prayed to God he'd never reach that level in his illness but if he should it was something they needed to be prepared for. Something they needed to come to an understanding on. Whether it be a pleasant understanding or not.

"You need to get up, Draco." She said but he merely blinked at her. "You need to exercise." Blink. "Walk around a little." Blink. "Eat something?" Double blink. "At least, get dressed!" She was getting exasperated as he just continued to stare at her behind his guarded eyes.

"Fine!" She snapped. She was done with this. Done with it all, the silence, the non-answers, the blinking! And most especially, that look in his eyes. "We need to talk anyway."

She stood, hands on her hips, and frowned down at him. His expression turned to confusion. She slowly looked his blanketed body up and down, scrutinizing him in a way she knew he hated. His eyebrows furrowed and his cheeks flushed. She took a step closer, tilted her head to the side, and looked him straight in the eyes. He cracked within a minute.

"What?" He didn't say it harshly but it was with more emotion than his recent normal.

"Why are you giving up?" She demanded.

"Giving up?" He sputtered at her, anger overtaking his features. "If I were bloody well giving up I wouldn't be here, in your apartment, taking up your time, feeling nauseous and weak and tired every second of every day. If I had given up I would just go jump off a bloody bridge or doing any of the other multitude of things that I could to make the suffering stop."

Hermione reared back in shock. She'd wanted a reaction out of him, what she didn't want was to hear him talk about killing himself just to stop the pain.

"Is the pain that horrible? Should I take you to the hospital? Have you been thinking about killing yourself? Should I call Denise?"

"Zip it, Granger." His eyes still lit with barely controlled irritation but he was really speaking for the first time in days. "I am not going to kill myself nor have I ever even considered it a viable option since I made my promise to you. I told you I would not give up and I will not, no matter how I might want to at times. I thought we had an understanding on that. I thought that you thought more of me."

Hermione felt both ashamed and incensed as Draco continued berating her. She'd obviously known he wasn't giving up, she'd just used it as an opening for the more important conversation that they need to have. But apparently she'd started on a very touchy subject, one that Draco had seemed to have given a lot of thought to.

"No hospital. The pain is manageable. I will be fine. As for Denise, I have a scheduled appointment with her next week and I would very much appreciate if you didn't have any contact with my therapist at all. Now let's get to what the real matter is here because that obviously wasn't it if you aren't trying to counteract my points with your own self-righteous anger."

He'd pushed himself up to sit against the headboard at this point and crossed his arms against his chest waiting.

Hermione let out a sigh of exasperation at his perceptiveness and for not the first time reminded herself that the direct approach was how she should handle issues with Draco from now on.

"Fine." She seated herself in a chair she'd discreetly—without his knowledge—place by his bedside. "We need to talk about your pride."

"My pride is fine. My humor though, I'll admit, it's more than a little morbid." He quipped at her to which she almost had to smile. For someone that liked to get down to the matters at hand he sure did skirt around the issues that he didn't want to talk about.

"The fact that it's made you mute this past week is something to talk about." She dared him to argue. "I understand pride, I do but feeling embarrassed just because you need some help or because I see you in a vulnerable position isn't going to work. At least not when you make a big deal out of it and shut me out because of it."

He still didn't answer her, she wasn't even sure she was getting through.

"Realize that in those situations there is nothing to be embarrassed about. Easier said than done I know. But just smack yourself in the head now, save us some time later, and realize these things are going to happen. They are inevitable and they will be uncomfortable. Not just for you but for both of us. But we will get through them and I will still see you as the same brilliant, irritating person with a slightly morbid sense of humor, that I saw you as before. No amount of puke or bodily fluids or bad jokes could ever take you down from the pedestal I already have you on. Honestly."

His head tilted to the side in a cute, puppy-don't-understand kind of way. "You have me on a metaphorical pedestal?"

She was torn between wanting to shake him for not addressing the main focus of her speech and laughing at the first cheeky comment she had heard from him in a week.

"Of course. Anyone who can go through everything you're going through, just for a chance to live, deserves to have a full blown statue crafted in their honor. And I'm not exaggerating."

A serene and thoughtful smile graced Draco's face as he stared at her for an immeasurable moment. All too soon though it was again replaced with despair. "It's not going to be that easy, Hermione. Could you imagine having someone see you like that? Having someone have to take care of you when you can't take care of yourself?"

She sighed but answered as best as she could. "Honestly, no. I've been on the other end but never from your side before. I, myself, feel it would probably even be easier to have a stranger see me in such a state versus someone I know but this is what we've got and this is how it's going to be. We all have to rely on others at some point in our lives. This is your time to lean on me. Maybe someday you can return the favor but for now you're just going to have to trust me and push those feelings of pride and embarrassment aside, at least, enough so that we can get you taken care of and still be friends afterwards." She eyed him seriously. "Do you think that's something that you can do?"

Still he hesitated. Slowly she lent him her hand and pulled him up gradually to sit on the edge of the bed. She knelt in front of him, making sure she had his undivided attention.

"Do you trust me?"

Draco blinked, all humor gone from his eyes but his answer was immediate. "Yes."

Hermione wouldn't dwell on how much his quick answer pleased her. "Do you think I would ever scorn you or humiliate you or mock you?"

"Well you quite loved to in the past." He spoke cheekily, again trying to evade the real topic of conversation.

"Draco." Hermione warned him. "Will I ever humiliate you, most especially in accordance with your illness?"

He really glared at her this time, realizing there was no escape. "Well, I would hope not."

"You have to hope? You don't know?" She tried to hide her hurt.

Again his demeanor changed before her eyes. His eyes softened and though his mouth still held a hard line, he dropped all pretenses and was grudgingly honest with her. "I don't trust easy, Hermione. You'd be daft if you didn't realize that. And you're not daft." He eyed her seriously. "I know in my.." he almost choked on the word, "heart, that you will not mock me or use my illness as a punch line to your friends but my head tells me different. My head is fighting against twenty years of scorn from my father and malice from my 'friends' and my old ways of thinking. I also cannot help but feel that I would deserve it should you choose to do such a thing."

Hermione opened her mouth, incensed but he cut her off roughly.

"For the love of Lord, Granger, let me get this out now because this conversation bloody-well won't be happening again." He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "I will try to show you my trust. I have done so already, have I not?" He didn't wait for her answer but she nodded anyway. "I would never have let _anyone_ see me in this state, before," He motioned down his especially skinny, pajama covered body. "but I have let you already and I will continue to let you, despite my pride, because..."

He stopped abruptly, seemingly at war with himself. Hermione wisely kept her mouth shut, despite the fact that it nearly suffocated her to do so.

He sighed. "Because I need you. I-I need your help." He clarified quickly, looking away. "The kind of help that only you were—are—willing to give. I needed someone, even when I said I didn't. When I thought it would be better to just let go. And you were there. And you were everything. And I might already be gone if it weren't for you."

His eyes closed at the realization. The tremors that were already shaking his ill body intensified. "I could be dead."

"Draco." Hermione tried to stop the seemingly impending panic attack but her interference seemed unnecessary.

"No." His voice rang out as strong and determined as she'd heard it. "I could be dead. I still could die." The tremors that wracked his body intensified before Draco seemed to remarkably make them cease altogether. "But I'm alive. And I have a chance at living." Draco grasped the sides of her face in a frail hold that had Hermione's eyes widening. "I have a chance because of you." His silver eyes were glazed with determination. "So whatever you need from me. Name it." Hermione's eyebrows must have crinkled in question. "What do you need from me to prove that I trust you? I will, I'll do what you asked. I'll shove my pride and embarrassment aside as much as I can but it won't be easy and it will still surface from time to time. But other than that, what can I do to make all of this easier on you?"

She smiled at him then. This boy—man—really was something else. Something amazing. He had so much on his plate, his own mortality notwithstanding, and still he was trying to make her comfortable, even in the face of his pain. Placing her hands over his, she brought them down to rest on his knees.

"Just be yourself. Tell me when you're in pain." He slowly closed his eyes, as if the stipulation caused him distress, and Hermione was sure for someone who'd spent his entire life hiding his grief, it probably did. "Please." She asked it plainly and could have kissed him when he nodded. She shook that crazy errant thought from her mind. "I don't care if it's a lot of pain. I don't care if it's only a little. I want to know. Alright?"

He just nodded, eyes still closed.

"I also need you to let me in. Let me know what you're thinking. How you are feeling about _everything._" His eyes snapped open, refusal on his lips but she shook her head. She knew he would still be seeing his therapist at times but that wasn't good enough. That contact wasn't on a day to day basis. There was still too much time in between. Time when Hermione feared nothing more than a single, insignificant, careless statement could break the fragile acceptance that Draco was already struggling with. "It would be so easy, Draco. So easy. For you to fall back into depression." She pressed her lips together, refusing to add it would be just as easy for her own depression to return as well. "If that were to happen I'm afraid it would put you but one small step away from giving up entirely." She thumped their still attached hands on his knee, making his eyes meet hers. "That cannot happen. It can't. You need to talk to me. I need your honesty. That's what I need most. That's what you can give to me."

Draco tried to coalesce everything she was telling him but couldn't quite make it all make sense. His brow creased while he unconsciously took up running the tip of his finger in circles on the back of Hermione's hand.

Her stipulations were difficult but he could endure them. For her, he would. She was giving him life, he had to give something back. But something still stuck in his mind.

"Give me yours and I'll give you mine." It was crappy of him really. He had no right to ask anything of her but he did.

He'd seen her suffering, he'd noticed she'd taken to locking herself away in her apartment, and that she hadn't seen, flooed, or even owled her friends—but briefly—since he'd taken up residence in her home. He could only imagine how long it had been going on before he had shown up on the scene. He saw it all. She was still grieving from her mother's death and as much as he wanted to throttle her friends for not being more attentive and taking further methods to pull her out of her stupor, he also understood their predicaments with the circumstances.

Not only did they probably not have any idea how to deal with the situation but some things just couldn't be fixed. Some things had to run their course. But he was pleased—if not thrilled—that giving Hermione something to focus on, i.e. taking care of him, seemed to bring her comfort and bring her out of the deep depression she'd undoubtedly been in before he'd shown up.

"I'll be honest and talk with you and tell you when I'm in pain, if you'll do the same for me." He repeated. She seemed to not understand his reasoning but he preferred not to go into it with her. "Just humor me." Was what he said instead.

It seemed like an eternity but finally she nodded, agreeing. "No holding back." She pulled a hand away and gave him a stern finger. "If you want to talk, I want to hear it. If you're in pain, I need to hear it. Got it?"

With only a slight hesitation he nodded. "Deal."

He made show of shaking the hand he was still holding in a business-like manner.

She smiled and he soared.

"Deal." She finally agreed and removed her other hand from his, realizing she had been holding on tightly.

The air around them seemed different for a moment, charged with the realization that if they followed through they'd no longer have any secrets from each other. It wasn't an easy compromise to give up one's privacy so readily but if it was what the other needed to grow and heal then they both knew it was something they could handle.

Hermione finally stood up from kneeling in front of him and eyed him up and down in that way she knew he hated.

He glared at her. She just smiled back.

"Really though, you need to get some exercise in, if only just a walk around the block."

He let out a bone weary sigh and semi-shakily stood without her assistance. "Fine." He assented but not before a wicked smile crossed his lips. "But only if you tell me more on how you once fancied Longbottom."

Hermione's cheeks reddened as fast as he'd ever seen them and his rich, genuine laughter filtered throughout the room.

Oh, how Hermione should have thought that one through and not admitted her preteen crush to Draco. She should have known it would come back to her in good time but watching him now light up in a way that she couldn't imagine anyone in his situation capable of, she couldn't help but think that facing whatever teasing he threw at her would be entirely worth it.

She beamed at him, despite her embarrassment and pulled on his arm, only to be stopped in her tracks.

His laughter cutoff and his face suddenly pinched. A sweat broke out on his brow and his cheeks became shallow. His face flushed despite the greenish tint that was overtaking his pallor.

She rushed him to the bathroom as quick as he could move. He made it to the toilet just before his meager lunch came back up.

He was on his knees, one arm around the bowl, the other trying to push Hermione from the room, despite what he'd just promised, but again, she refused to leave. She met him halfway though and backed up until she was standing just inside of the doorframe. She tried not to stare directly at him, she knew he didn't want her to see him in such a state, but she couldn't help but glance back every few moments, her attention dividing between respecting his wishes and making sure he was okay.

It was because of this she didn't hear her apartment door open and close. Didn't hear the footsteps coming towards her down the hallway. Wasn't aware until she felt the presence behind her and heard the voice ring out.

"What in Merlin's name?!"

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A/N: Oh and good news, if you're still with me after all of this. I already have the next chapter half written. :)

And thank you to **RachaelWithAnA **who just happened to review earlier today. I feel bad I wasn't able to get this all put together earlier so that you could have read just the new chapter instead of getting hooked on the old one. You're review was awesome and inspiring though and I hope you'll still stick with the story in spite of this change :)


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